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A 

MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


CHAPTER I. 

jyi* ADAME DE LA VEYLE, widow of the Rear- 
Admira'i de Lords, had espoused in her second 
nuptials the General Marquis de la Veyle. Happy 
in her choice, in these two successive unions, the mar- 
quise made it a duty, pious and diverting at the same 
time, to propagate in others a taste for an institution 
which she had only cause to praise. She was pos- 
sessed with a passion for marrying people. The per- 
sonal consideration which she enjoyed, the aristocratic 
relations with whom she was connected, and her 

remarkable success in several difficult operations, had 

( 5 ) 


6 


.A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


secured for her the confidence of the public. Above all 
she had, as she herself said, a good sign at her door — 
her daughter-in-law, Louise de Lorris. M. de Lorris 
was an officer of marines, ancj his frequent and pro- 
longed absences imposed upon his yQung wife a deli- 
cate role, in which she acquitted herself in a manner 
so meritorious as to reflect great honor upon the dis- 
cernment of her mother-in-law. 

Madame de la Veyle received on Thursday evenings." 
Her Thursdays were chilling, although there was music. 
Those who attended them breathed there an air of 
mystery. One met there unknown persons, wearers 
of white cravats, who often failed to make a second 
appearance. Young girls suddenly burst into sobs, 
without anybody knowing why. All this threw a 
chill over the drawing-room parties. 

On that evening the marquise accomplished a work 
of pure charity, that of promoting marriages among 
an inferior class, from which she expected no other 
reward than the satisfaction of her conscience. 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


7 


A poor cousin of the general — whom they simply 
called “ Edward ” about the house — was about to be 
offered to the daughter of a professor of Sainte-Barbe. 
Edward was a timid, awkward young man, with 
mediocre face and figure, so that it was not easy to 
introduce him with any eclat; but he had one measur- 
ably redeeming qualification, in that he was a musician 
and played passably well upon the flute. Madame de 
la Veyle had decided that he should be presented in' 
this character. 

“ I know very well,” she said, “that the flute is. an 
instrument which does not appeal very forcibly to the 
imagination ; still, it is the most brilliant side of that 
poor Edward.” 

So, it was understood that Edward should, during 
the course of the evening, execute a morccatt upon the 
flute, in which he would be assisted by the General and 
Madame de Lorris. When the moment came, Madame 
de Lorris gave the key by striking a chord upon the 
piano and the general sounded it upon the violoncello, 


8 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


Edward having essayed to strike the key, suddenly 
crossed the parlor, stepping very quietly and cau- 
tiously, knelt before the fire, unscrewed his flute and 
began carefully warming its sections. 

“What is he doing there?” said Madame de la 
Veyle, while the professor’s daughter exchanged 
smiles with her family. “ What a singular proceeding ! 
Why do you warm your flute?” 

“ In order to raise its pitch,” answered Edward. 

“ Indeed 1 It has that effect ! That is strange. I 
can hardly believe it, my friend. However, everything 
is possible.” 

Edward, intimidated by the silence and constraint 
of those about him, arose a little hastily and made 
another endeavor to fall into accord with the General 
and Mad, de Lorris, who once more, with unwearied 
kindness, gave him the key. But his ear was not yet 
satisfied, and retaking his humble posture on the 
hearth, he a second time exposed the sections of his 
flute to the warmth of the fire. This unhappy second 


A MAKklAOE IN HIGH LIFE. 


9 


offence called forth a dull murmur of mingled disap- 
probation and hilarity all around the room. The 
professor’s daughter, redder than a tomato, directed 
an eloquently supplicatory glance at her mother. 

“ My dear Edward,” then said the marquise, “ that 
is enough. We cannot spend the entire evening in 
watching you warm your flute. You should under- 
stand that. You had better give it up altogether, — ^ 
let it be for another time — for another time.” 

After this painful incident, conversation languished. 
The professor’s family soon took their departure. 
Poor Edward, in a melancholy manner, replaced his 
flute in its morocco case, wiped his dejected brow and 
disappeared. 

“ What a beautiful evening !” said the general, 
shortly afterward, retiring to his bed-room. 

One single person remained in the drawing-room in 
company with Madame de la Veyle and her daughter- 
in-law. It was a young man, about thirty years of age, 
well-made, elegant and with fine, aristocratic features. 


A MAJiHIAGi: hX HIGH Lim 


The events of the evening appeared to have completely 
escaped his observation. The little domestic drama 
which we have just sketched had not awakened any 
signs of interest or even of attention on his proud 
and cold visage. He did not notice the retiring of 
Edward or the professor’s family, merely arose a little 
from his chair when the general went out, and then 
languidly resumed his drawing of Turks’-heads in an 
album. 

“ M. de Rias,” suddenly said Madame de Lorris to 
him, “ ^ow about my verses ? When ?” 

“ This instant madame, if you desire.” 

“Ah! an impromptu 1 Bravo!” 

She put before him the album reserved for poetical 
effusions, and the young man, after two minutes of 
reflection, wrote rapidly some lines, which he then 
presented to Madame de Lorris, with a slight bow. 

“ What 'has this gentleman said to you ?” asked 
Madame de la Veyle, arousing herself from her 
sombre meditations. 


A MABBJAGU IN HIGH LIFE. 


II 


“Read, mamma,” said the young woman. 

She read gravely : 

Ah ! little delighted. 

Was the lady to-night 
By the marquise invited. 

At the laughable sight. 

Of the glowing fireside haunted. 

By Edward and his flute enchanted.” 

“Ah! poor boy!” said the marquise; “instead of 
using his flute against me like a dagger, you would 
do better to explain your conduct, which is decidedly 
unnatural” 

“ How ? dear madam.” 

“ My dear Lionel, I do not deceive myself about 
my Thursdays. T know that they cannot have any 
very great attraction for you — for you have been two 
years without even remembering that they took place. 
Well, all that I can understand ; but for sometime past 
you have not missed a single one, and that, I confess. 


12 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


puzzles me. Come, frankly now, my friend, what is 
your object? For whom, or why, do you show such 
assiduity? Do you come to captivate my daughter- 
in-law ? or do you wish that I shall marry you off?” 

“ Tell me first, have I a choice ?” replied Lionel. 

“ Must I leave the room, mamma?” cried Madame 
de Lorris gayly, arching her swan-like neck and 
showing her pretty head above her embroidery. 

“ Madame ! dear god-mother !” appealed M. de Rias, 
“ keep Madame de Lorris, I pray you ! Since you 
appear to be going to preach up marriage, do not 
deprive yourself of such a strong argument.” 

Indeed, you think that, my friend,” said the mar- 
quise with sparkling eyes. “ Well, you charm me ; 
positively you charm me. Here is at length a deli- 
cious compensation for the annoyances of this evening. 
I have no need to tell you, my dear Lionel, with what 
zeal I shall put myself at your commands, out of 
friendship for you and also for the affectionate memory 
I have of your poor mother. But, since we are going 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE 


13 


to talk, if the presence of my daughter-in-law embar- 
rasses you ” 

Madame de Lorris half arose and spread out her 
arms like two wings, in an attitude of smiling interro- 
gation and ready submission. 

“No, no, I conjure you,” said Lionel; “the pres- 
ence of Madame de Lorris is not only agreeable but 
useful to me; she sustains me in this hour of trial; 
she shows me marriage in a light ” 

“ Ah ! permit me, my friend,” said the old marquise ; 
“ you must not pay court to Madame de Lorris on the 
pretext of a fictitious marriage. You shall not deceive 
me with that play ; but, remain ; keep your seat, 
daughter; we will see.” 

“ Very well,” replied the young wife, again taking 
up her embroidery. 

“ Come now, my friend,” continued Madame de la 
Veyle. “ Is it serious ? Are you decided to settle 
down and make an end of it?” 

“ I have not any great end to make,” modestly 


14 


A MARMAGE m HIGH UPE. 


replied M. de Rias, “ but I have always had an inten- 
tion of marrying some day. It is the custom of my 
family to do so; besides I am now thirty years old, and 
it seems to me right and decent at least that I should 
present myself at the altar while I am still presentable. 
I may add, in order to calm Madame de Lords — who 
is throwing terrifying looks at me — that I am inclined 
toward marriage by other considerations of a less 
positive nature ; that I am not a stranger to certain 
honest and tender sentiments, although I do not like 
to make a parade of them ; that I can be haunted, like 
other men, by imaginings of sweet intimacy and 
domestic happiness ; that the idea has come to me of 
seeing in my home, when I enter it, a graceful young 
head bent beneath the gas light over her embroidery 
which may not be indifferent to me ; and that, in 
short, I shall be happy to see filled, in a manner so 
worthy and charming, the empty place that my 
mother has left in my house.” 

‘‘ That is admirable,” said the old lady, “ I rnay 


A ^MARRIA GE IN HIGH LIFE, 1 5 

even say that it touches me. Your hand, dear 
friend.” 

M. de Rias respectfully kissed the hand she held 
out to him and replied laughingly, “And now for 
the chapter of objections.” 

“ What objections ! my friend But I know them ; 
you need not tell them to me. There are mar- 
riages which turn out badly. Is that what you 
mean? There are unhappy households in the world; 
well 

“ There are indeed, a great many,” assented Lionel. 

“ Well, but what can you do ? Certainly there are 
wicked men, and there are fools and awkward people, 
and so much the worse for them.” 

“ You do not pretend to try and make me believe 
that it always depends upon the man himself to be 
happy or unhappy in marriage !” 

“I beg your pardon, I do pretend to try and 
make you believe it. because it is the truth. Look 
at the wives of sailors ! why are they all models 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


i6 


of good conduct ? (Bow, my daughter.) It is be- 
cause their husbands are not with them to spoil the 
situation.’' 

“ But, my dear god-mother, you will admit that 
there are monsters who are unaffected by either the 
presence or the absence of their husbands.” 

“ No, my friend, there are no monsters ; or, if there 
are any they are rare, exceedingly rare. It is a mania 
that men have now-a-days of insisting that all women 
are monsters at birth. That is very convenient ; one 
is no longer responsible. But you may be very sure 
that I will not give you a monster; I will answer for 
that. Louise,” continued she, addressing her daugh- 
ter-in-law, “ do you know of whom I am thinking for 
him?” 

The young woman raised her clear eyes to the 
ceiling for a moment, then letting them fall upon her 
mother-in-law. she said, “ Marie.” 

“ Exactly. I see them together already. That 
is the same idea you have had, is it not ? For the 


A MAIiBIAGU IN HIGH LIFE, 


17 


matter of that, this marriage has been in my head for 
a long time.” 

“ Marie,” said M. de Rias, “ is a pretty name when 
it is well worn ; but permit me a question : is Made- 
moiselle Marie a Parisienne?” 

“ As Parisian as it is possible to be,” replied Ma- 
dame de Lorris. 

“ That is enough ; I formally refuse the candidate.” 

“ Why ?” asked the marquise. 

“ Because I know how young girls are brought 
up in Paris, and without cherishing any grand illu- 
sions concerning rural innocence, I believe that I 
would have a better chance in taking my wife from 
the provinces.” 

Oh ! do not do that !” cried the marquise. “ What 

an idea ! taking a wife from the provinces — as one 

takes a domestic. Do you know what happens to the 

domestics that you bring from the provinces ? Paris 

intoxicates them, turns their heads, and they are the 

worst of all. You would have a clumsy woman, who 

2 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


i8 

would not know how to conduct herself, who would 
have red hands, of whom you would be ashamed, and 
who would still be no less likely to deceive you than 
any other. You see, my friend, in reality there are 
dangers everywhere, and therefore we should choose 
those which are least ridiculous.” 

But, I must say,” cried Lionel, pleasantly, “ I do 
not comprehend you. I thought you were going to 
excite and encourage me; but all you say to me is 
terrifying.” 

‘‘ I assure you, mamma,” said Madame de Lorris, 
laughing heartily, that you are by no means reassur- 
ing.” 

“How shall I answer him, my dear? He would 
like to have a marriage without inconvenience, with- 
out danger, without bad luck, offered him on a silver 
salver, like all the rest of the men. Well, I have none 
of that kind to offer, for the simple reason that there are 
none. As a general rule, my dear, I marry only those 
people who unite in themselves sufficient elements of 


A MAHJ^IAGi; IN HIGH LIFE. 


19 


agreement and ~ happiness. I know, for example, a 
well-born and well-dowered young girl who can make 
an admirable wife ; I know, on the other hand, a 
genteel young man, the soul of honor, almost charm- 
ing — I mean you, godson, by the way — I marry them ; 
the affair, so far as I am concerned, is finished ; the 
rest concerns them alone. I marry you, and after that, 
God help you ! Besides, dear Lionel, at the point 
where you are, your reflections, your objections, your 
reasoning, all go for nothing. You have told us your 
symptoms; they are decisive. You are ripe; permit 
yourself to be plucked, and do not struggle.” 

“ But truly,” said Lionel, in a serious tone, “ I am 
not so decided as you think, and I desire to reflect 
farther.” 

“ Do so, my friend, only while you are thinking 
about it my rarest bird may fly away.” 

“ Ah ! well, let her fly,” answered the young man, 
taking his hat as if to withdraw. He did not retire, 
however, but, leaning his back against the mantel- 


20 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


piece, sighed a long sigh and said, in a sort of mel- 
ancholy murmur, “ Marry, — well, so be it. I don’t 
ask anything better than to marry to-morrow morn- 
ing.” 

The old marquise turned toward Madame de Lorris 
and said to her, with an air of comic gravity: “You 
are present, daughter, at a touching scene — the last 
struggles of a bachelor.” 

Lionel laughed. 

“ Tell me,” he replied, “ how she has been brought 
up — your young lady?” 

“ My friend,” said the old marquise, “ she has been 
brought up in a tower, by the fairies. Does that suit 
you ?” 

“ Is she one of your friends ?” the young man asked 
of Madame de Lorris. 

“ Yes, sir, and I like her very much.” 

“ That is something.” 

“Oh! goodness,” cried the marquise, “we have 
had enough of mystery. She is not only her friend, 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LlPE. 


2t 


she is her cousin and her name is Mademoiselle Fitz- 
Gerald.” 

“ Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald ?” 

“ Yes, what have you to say to that ?” 

“ That it would be an alliance as honorable as 
advantageous ; but are you sure that there is a young 
lady named Fitz-Gerald ? I think I saw once a child at 
the Fitz-Gerald’s, but I thought it was a boy.” 

“ No, it was a girl.” 

Where can one see her ?” 

One can see her wherever one sees oneself. She 
is to be seen wherever you go ; but this has only been 
during two years past, since you have been in 
mourning ; so that accounts for your not knowing 
her.” 

Do you remember,” said Madame de Lorris, my 
poor little sister-in-law, Madame de Kevern ?” 

“ Madame de Kevern ! Certainly — poor young 
woman, she was charming.” 

Well, Marie Fitz-Gerald is just such a person. I 


22 


1 MAItRIAOE IN fflOB LIFE. 


think she greatly resembles her in appearance, do not 
you, mamma?” 

Yes,” answered the marquise, “she is very hand- 
some. But you shall judge of her with your own 
eyes, for I am going to do for you a heroic thing. 
Marie and her mother are now at their country-house 
near Melun. Poor Kevern, the brother of my 
daughter-in-law, has a little castle in their neighbor- 
hood, which he has put at our disposal during his 
absence. It is a place that I do not like, but I will go 
there with Louise for a few days. You shall come 
and see us, and an introduction will take place natu- 
rally. Is it a bargain ?” 

“ I am overwhelmed by your kindness,” said Lionel, 
“ but I wish it to be understood that this step shall 
not commit me in an absolute manner.” 

“ What a man ! Nobody shall marry you in spite 
of yourself, my dear friend ; therefore be tranquil. 
Besides, you yourself may not please. That astonishes 
you; but it is very possible, nevertheless, that you 


A MAkRI AGE IN BlQtl LIFE. 


may not please — so nobody is committed. Ring now, 
my friend — come back to-morrow, and then we will 
complete our projects.” 

M. de Rias renewed his thanks, made his adieus 
and retired, leaving Madame de la Veyle and her 
charming daughter-in-law in the enjoyment of that 
pleasurable excitement which all women, young or 
old, experience when they are concerned, even indi- 
rectly, in those adventures wherein love is called upon 
to take a part. 


24 


A MAHniAGS m BlGli LtPE. 


CHAPTER II. 

ADAME FITZ-GERALD, widow of a coun- 
sellor of state, had been a great beauty, and 
might still be called so, although she had reached her 
forty-fifth year. When, under the first sunbeams of 
March or April, she emerged from her furs and 
deigned to descend the boulevard, from the Rue de la 
Paix to the Madelaine, in company with her daughter, 
the promenaders, who shrank away from her path 
with involuntary deference, got a perfect idea of Pari- 
sian elegance in its supreme purity. Mother and 
daughter, although little accustomed to long walks, 
advanced with firm and sure steps, cleaving the 
crowd with sovereign indifference, and exchanging 
a few words in haughty and crisp voices, as if they 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


25 


were enjoying a tete-h-tete in their own park. Their 
toilettes, although marvellously adapted to their ages, 
had a charming similarity ; their gait was harmonious ; 
they left behind them an odor of hot-house flowers, 
and seemed to purify the asphalt upon which they 
trod. Strangers studied with jealous eyes the dress, 
the movements, the attractions of these two Parisians 
strolling abroad in their empire, and, with reason, 
despaired of imitating them. 

Although she had been left a widow early and in all 
the splendor of her beauty, Madame Fitz-Gerald had 
doubled the cape of maturity with a reputation per- 
fectly pure. She was not armed with any very solid 
or elevated principles, but she had, in the highest 
degree, the religion at once of ermines and of thor- 
ough women of the world — a horror of stains. She 
applied to morality the tastes and repugnance which 
characterized her physical care of her person. Her 
instincts and habits revolted at disorder and blem- 
ishes. Evil, to her, was not simply evil — it was more. 


26 


A MABJ^IAGF IN HIGH LIFE. 


it was bad breeding. If it is not desirable to exag- 
gerate the moral value of this sort of feeling, it is at 
least well not to deny its delicacy and practical value. 
It is the unique safeguard of many women. It is a 
charm which resembles virtue. 

An uncle of her husband, Count Patrice Fitz-Gerald, 
with chivalric courtesy devoted himself to the ser- 
vice of the young widow, and made himself her guide 
and protector in the world until the day when her 
daughter was old enough to be presented in society. 
From that moment Count Patrice retired, with plea- 
sure, to his chateau de Fresnes, and it became a habit 
with his niece to spend there with him several months 
of each summer. 

It was there that Madame Fitz-Gerald received, one 
fine morning in July, an interesting communication 
from Madame de la Veyle, of which that lady had 
already forewarned her by a mysterious missive. The 
matrimonial overture was received with an enthusiasm 
hardly hidden by the appearance of reserve which the 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


27 


circumstances demanded. Madame Fitz-Gerald en^ 
deavored to murmur that her daughter was still very 
ye^ung ; that she was hardly nineteen years of age ; 
that she was, furthermore, very much sought and in a 
position to make her choice at leisure — then, finally, 
forgetting all conventionalities in her maternal im- 
pulse, she threw her arms about the neck of her old 
friend and burst into tears. Lionel de Rias was in 
fact, by his name, his fortune, his merit and his per- 
sonal appearance, one of those sons-in-law whom 
mothers delight in evoking in their dreams. 

Count Patrice was naturally called to the council 
and showed himself quite in sympathy with the pro- 
ject of alliance. They took several days to talk of it 
at their ease, and to discuss all the questions of con- 
ventionality and interest involved. The marquise was 
installed in a pleasant country-house, which they 
called the Pavilion, belonging to the brother of her 
daughter-in-law, situated only about half a mile from 
Fresnes ; and, thanks to this convenience of neighbor- 


28 


A MARRIAGE W MiG II LIFE. 


hood, they could multiply their conferences on this 
delicate subject without awakening the curiosity of 
Mademoiselle Marie Fitz-Gerald or interesting her 
feelings. She might not please Lionel, and Lionel 
might not please her. It was therefore of the utmost 
importance to spare her from those premature excite 
merits so undesirable for young maidenhood. During 
the parleying of the ciders, Madame de Lorris was 
detailed to amuse Mademoiselle Marie, and, being too 
wise and discreet to “ tell tales out of school,” dis- 
charged this duty conscientiously. 

At length the day arrived which had been fixed 
upon for the first interview between the two young 
people, and all felt a happy confidence that Marie 
would pass through the ordeal with the most entire 
liberty of heart and mind. But they did not neglect 
any precaution which might take away from that 
interview even a ti'ace of intention or formality and 
give it an appearance of accident or chance. Not- 
withstanding the perfect naturalness of M. de Rias’ 


A MARBIAOE IN HIGH LIFE. 


29 


arrival, among many other comers and goers, at his 
godmother’s house, the following notes — agreed upon 
before hand — were exchanged between the Pavilion 
and the Chateau de Fresnes on the morning of this 
important day : 

Madame de la Veyle to Madame Fitz- Gerald. 

“ My dear Clarisse, 

“Do not count upon us to-day for dinner. Some 
visitors have come by the train. They are very amia- 
ble people, no doubt, but might have made a better 
choice of their day, and, above all, notified me. I de- 
test even the most agreeable surprises. 

“ Tender regards, my dear.’’ 

Madame Fitz-Gerald to Madame de la Veyle. 

“ Bring me your very amiable people, my dear. 
Only tell me the number, in order that I may lay 
plates for them. 


I embrace you, my friend,” 


30 


A MARRIAGJE IN HIGH LIFE. 


Madame de la Veyle to Madame Fitz-Gerald. 

My dear friend, my amiable people are only one. 
It is my godson, Lionel de Rias, but I cannot let him 
dine alone and I cannot bring him to you. He comes 
to me only for a day and has not brought his evening 
coat. 

“Affectionate despair.” 

Madame Fitz-Gerald to Madame de la Veyle, 

“ Dear Friend : 

“ Bring M. de Rias as he is. My uncle will keep 
on his jacket in order to put him at his ease. Come 
early, and we will take a walk this evening. 

“Yours for ever.” 

Madame de la Veyle to Madame Fitz-Gerald. 

“ It is understood then that we will come at three 
o’clock, — that is, the general, Louise and myself As 
to M. de Rias, he has some visits to make in the 
neighborhood. He will join us toward six o’clock, 
on one of the general’s horses.” 


A mai^biaOje; m high life. 


31 


Madame Fitz-Gerald took care to communicate to 
her daughter each successive part of this astute cor^ 
respondence, and could not but felicitate herself on 
the perfect indifference with which Mademoiselle Marie 
followed the progress of events. 

Nevertheless, toward half-past five o’clock in the 
afternoon, the young girl was promenading solitarily 
on the terrace of the park which overlooked the road 
leading from Melun to Fontainebleau. From time to 
time she stopped in her light and rapid walk, and 
seemed to listen for some far-off noise, looking the 
while toward the road through the openings in the 
thick hedge which bordered the terrace. Then she 
would start again upon her walk, moving with a 
gliding step, as if she were about ta waltz. 

When she again hazarded a furtive glance through 
the verdant arches, she drew quickly back her yielding 
bust and murmured a few words between her lips, half- 
parted by a vague smile. There was to be clearly 
heard, on the dry, hard road, the resonant tre^d of a 


32 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


horse, the proud step of a high-bred charger it seemed, 
one which should carry only some distinguished rider. 
The young girl still smiled. She hid herself, and, 
with a palpitating bosom, managed to make, among 
the foliage in the thickest part of the hedge, a little 
observatory. The horseman passed. She regarded 
him with an interest so intense that she seemed to 
cea.se to breathe. M. de Rias had appeared, with his 
quiet elegance, his manly grace, his handsome and 
proud features slightly paled with emotion. 

When he had passed out of sight she sighed deeply. 
Placing her hand on her agitated heart, she fixed 
her brilliant blue eyes for an instant on the space 
which a moment ago he had filled, then lowering 
her gaze slowly to the ground, she said in a broken 
voice ; 

‘‘ My hu.sband !” 

At the sound of this word her face became purple * 
she hid it in her hands, and remained thus for some 
minutes like a statue of startled modesty, after which 


A MAHJilAGl: m HIGH LIFE. 


33 


Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald, with lively step, returned to 
the chateau. 

They were waiting for her there, with extreme im- 
patience, for M. de Rias had already entered the 
court-yard, to the great despair of the old marquise. 

“ Where is Marie ?” she asked of Madame Fitz- 
Gerald, who was posted at her side in the embrasure 
of one of the windows of the drawing-room. Lionel 
looks very well on horseback ; I had arranged this so 
that she should first see him in all his glory — for first 
impression is the great thing; and now, behold him 
arrive and that little girl is not here. It is a real mis- 
fortune !” 

My dear marquise,” replied Madame Fitz-Gerald, 
“ you know that, above everything else, we desired 
that Marie should not have the slightest suspicion ; 
besides, your godson appears to me to look as well 
on foot as upon horseback, therefore he has lost noth- 
mg. 

When Mademoiselle Marie condescended to appear 

8 


34 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGM LIFE. 


in the drawing-room with the family, a few minutes 
before dinner, she found M. de Rias already there, 
* acclimated, as it were, and in possession, manifestly, 
of the good graces of Madame Fitz-Gerald and the 
Count Patrice. He was immediately introduced to 
her, and she responded to the profound salutation of 
the young gentleman with an inclination of the head 
so slight and indifferent as almost to amount to rude- 
ness. Lionel — a little astonished, because he was 

generally better treated by the ladies at first sight on 
account of his good looks — began to wonder and 
endeavor to divine the reason for this cold reception. 
After a little cogitation he thought he had hit upon it. 
Madame de la Veyle had shown him her diplomatic 
correspondence of the morning, with Madame Fitz- 
Gerald, and, while he approved of the general spirit 
of it, he deemed ill advised the detail about his coat. 
He thought that Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald, a thorough 
expert in social decorum, had been shocked, and 
that a man who would visit about in castles 


A MARIUAOE JN HIGH LIFE. 


without a dress-coat seemed to her to justify and 
even to invite ridicule. 

This chimera was, as we know, the utter puerility 
of a lover. Was Lionel then that already ? In reality 
he had been so even before seeing Mademoiselle Fitz- 
Gerald ; for, if the unknown possibilities of marriage 
awaken in men of the age of M. de Rias some secret 
fears, it is not the less true that in that horizon there 
is for them a luminous point, a perspective of novelty 
and certainty that attracts and charms them power- 
fully. It is the emotion of a sort of love, and, if one 
may so speak of it, a voluptuousness, that, however ricli 
their past lives may have been in kindred sensations, 
has hitherto been unknown to them. It is the mi- 
rage of a fount of purity whose dew is to refresh and 
rejuvenate their weary hearts and senses. It is the 
ideal image of that young creature, immaculate as 
Pygmalion’s marble, whose virgin breast reserves for 
them its first blushes. 

Much occupied for some time past with this beauti- 


36 ^ A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 

ful vision, M. de Rias had hardly yet become enamored 
of Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald, who seemed to him its 
incarnation. Truly she was very pretty and very 
graceful, supple and willowy, with the air of a wild 
nymph, magnificently blue-eyed and lofty-browed. 
Lionel found, however, that this marble did not be- 
come animated at his contact, as he had dreamed. 
The countenance of Mademoiselle Marie, during din- 
ner, completed his mortification. If he had been the 
parish priest she could not have seemed more indif- 
ferent to his presence. She appeared quiet and pre- 
occupied, made pleasant little remarks from time to 
time to her cousin de Lorris, in a tone of passable en- 
joyment, and replied to the questions of Lionel with 
polite indifference. 

This behavior finished by alarming the old mar- 
quise herself, versed as she was in all the arts of 
her sex. When they left the table she took her 
daughter-in-law aside. 

“ My darling,” she said to her, “ it is all on one side. 


A MABBIAG/'J IN HIGH LIFE. 


37 


Lionel is evidently under the charm, but the child 
disquiets me. Try to find out what she thinks of 
him — without appearing to do so ; you understand !” 

A moment after, the young cousins were running 
about like two boarding-school girls, across the 
parterres which ornamented the court-yard before the 
facade of the chateau. 

Suddenly, Madame de Lorris, out of breath, ap- 
proaching one of the open windows of the drawing- 
room, made a sign to her mother-in-law. 

“ Mamma,” she said to her, re-assure yourself ; 
she has said nothing to me, but I am sure that she 
has divined all, and that she is pleased with it, for she 
kisses me every instant.” 

The train to Paris passed at nine o’clock, and 
Lionel, in order to bear out his part of the pro- 
gramme, had to go back to the Pavilion, which was 
only a few steps from the depot. His horse was 
led into the court-yard. It was a thorough-bred 
Arab, displaying its grace by coquettish prancings 


38 


A }.fAnniAGK IN HIGH LIFE. 


and curvetings, while its long silky tail swept the 
sand. 

Mademoiselle Marie seemed to know the horse, for 
she called him by his name, “Sahib,” petted him and 
fed him with tufts of grass. She finished by giving 
him a large rose, which she laughingly plucked from 
the waist of Madame de Lorris. These attentions, 
very much to the taste of the horse, were still more so 
to that of his rider. 


A MAlintAGE m HIGH LIFE. 


39 


CHAPTER III. 

FEW weeks later a strange personage arrived at 
the Chateau de Fresnes. It was the Countess 
Jules de Bruce, sister of the Count Patrice. She 
lived in the environs of Cherbourg, near the sea, in 
an old mansion — a sort of savage place — where she 
occupied herself with agriculture and good works. 
She never left there, except under the most extraordi- 
nary family circumstances. Her arrival, she said, 
was equivalent to a sacrament, for she was a sure 
sign of marriage, baptism or death. 

The Countess Jules, in spite of that juvenile appel- 
lation, which she had preserved through all her ages, 
was a septuagenarian. This venerable lady had an 
easy and dignified bearing, a blending of monastic 


46 


A MARIUAGE IN HIGH LlFll 

simplicity with extreme good breeding. She had 
been a widow for quite fifty years. It was impossible 
even to imagine what sort of a man, in his time, the 
Count Jules de Bruce had been. She never spoke of 
him. When any one expressed astonishment that she 
had persisted in such a long widowhood : 

I was married five months,” she would reply, “ and 
that was sufficiently long to show me the nothingness 
of that kind of amusement.” 

And that was all anybody knew about the count. 

She arrived early in the morning of the day .before 
that fixed for the marriage of her grand-niece with 
Lionel de Rias. Lionel — who for .some time had been 
domiciled at the Pavilion, with his godmother, in 
order to pay his court vv^ith more assiduity — on that 
day also came to the chateau at a very early hour. 
He was then immediately presented to the Countess 
Jules, who, having looked him over with a formidable 
fixity of stare, said to him in a brusque voice; 

“Sir, I am your servant; — you are very good- 


.4 MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


41 


looking. You please me very much ! — so I find it 
very good — tra-la-le ! I find it very good — tra-la-la!” 

After which she turned her back upon him, buried 
herself in a great arm-chair, unrolled an immense 
piece of knitting, and went resolutely to work. 

Nevertheless, Madame Fitz-Gerald was a prey to 
the most cruel perplexities, which she confidentially 
put before the Countess Jules. 

“ My dear aunt,” she said, “ you are very good to 
come so early. Your presence extricates me from a 
great embarrassment. We expect at least twenty 
relatives and friends this afternoon. I have a number 
of preparations to make and orders to give, and, 
above all, I have my two amorous young people 
to watch. It is enough to drive me wild. Thank 
Heaven ! you are here to relieve guard. I have the 
most absolute confidence in the delicacyof M. de Rias, 
but there are certain appearances which one must keep 
up. After the wedding they may take care of them- 
selves, but until then it appears to me highly improper 


42 


A MAURlAGh: IN HIGH LIFE. 


that my daughter and my future son-in-law should re- 
main alone one instant. I have managed them until 
now, but for to-day I confide them to you. Do not 
lose sight of them for a single moment when I am 
forced to be absent. You will promise me this, will 
you not, good aunt?’’ 

During this invocation a caustic smile flitted over 
the faded features of the Countess Jules, yet she 
signified by a very emphatic nod her acceptance of 
the mission with which she was thus invested. The 
opportunity to do honor to her engagement was not 
slow to offer itself After breakfast, Madame Fitz- 
Gerald followed her uncle, in order to share with him 
the hospitable cares necessitated by the occasion, but 
she did not leave the drawing-room without address- 
ing an eloquent look, expressive and supplicatory, to 
her old aunt. 

The Countess Jules installed herself in the em- 
brasure of a window. She had taken up her knitting 
work again, but, while working incessantly, kept a sharp 


A Mauri AGE m high life. 


43 


lookout upon Mademoiselle Marie — who was pick- 
ing out upon the piano the notes of a new piece of 
music — and upon M. de Rias, who with a very 
melancholy air, was turning the pages for her. A 
rapid dialogue in an undertone took place between 
the two young people. 

“Monsieur,” said Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald, with- 
out interrupting her playing, throwing her words 
over her shoulder at him. 

“ Mademoiselle?” 

“What is the matter with you? You look like a 
martyr.” 

“ That is because I am one.” 

“ How so ?” 

“You see how it is.” 

“ How what is ?” 

“ That we are now under the surveillance 
of a dragon. Your mother is truly incomprehen- 
sible.” 

“You know how much she thinks of appearances. 


44 


A MAEMIAGJS liV HIGH LTFE\ 


Do you not yourself have a regard for appearances, 
sir?” 

“ Yes, certainly — particularly when they suit me ; 
but frankly, your mother ” 

“ Come, come, don’t say anything against my 
mother.” 

“ I adore her— but, frankly, I say again, she might 
have contented herself with keeping us in sight for 
two long months, and let us breathe a little on the 
last day ; but no— she delivers us over to that Cerbe- 
rus.” 

“ Why ! Do you not find my aunt agreeable ?” 

“ Not at all — she is very far from being agreeable.” 

“ Take care. She is not deaf” 

I regret it.” 

^^Why?” 

“ Because — naturally — I have a thousand things to 
say to you.” 

“ Say them ! I will put down the pedal.” 

M. de Rias bent towards the ear of his betrothed, in 


A MAB/UAGU IN HIGH LIFE. 


45 


order to pour into it one of those thousand things 
that he had to say to her, but in that instant a fixed 
stare from the Countess Jules, stony and austere, 
suddenly paralyzed him. At the same time the old 
lady ceased knitting, stuck her needle in her cap and 
thus spoke. 

“ My children, approach ! I have heard it said by 
knowing people, and my short personal experience 
has confirmed me in believing it true, that in the 
happiest marriage the day which was the best of it all 
was the day before the wedding. I think it perfectly 
absurd that they will not leave you to enjoy it fully 
and freely. That is why I abuse the plenipotentiary 
powers which your mother has delegated to me, by 
giving you the key of the garden. It is lovely 
weather. Go, my children, and take a walk !” 

Mademoiselle Marie turned very red. 

“ But, aunt ” she murmured feebly. 

The old lady, without replying, took her by the 
hand and pushed her gently forth from the window 


46 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


of the drawing-room at which she was seated, which 
window' opened upon the park. • Lionel followed her 
as soon as he had, in passing, kissed the hand of this 
blunt but good fairy. 

Once in the open air, the two young people, like 
two long-imprisoned birds suddenly set free, seemed 
not a little astonished at their new-found liberty. 

They looked at each other and laughed, quite em- 
barrassed with their good fortune. Then, at last, 
Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald took Lionel’s arm, which 
he offered her. 

As they directed their slow steps toward the nearest 
foot-path leading to the park, a window was opened 
above them, in the upper story of the chateau. 

“Your mother!” cried Lionel, gayly. “ We are lost I” 

Overcoming the feeble resistance of the young girl, 
he forced her to run with him beneath the leafy shelter 
of a by-path at the edge of the park. 

They soon reached the first cross-roads in the forest, 
where they stopped for a moment to take breath 


A MARRIAGh IN HIGIH LIJ^ N 


47 


Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald, lending herself with good 
grace to an adventure which promised such frolicsome 
freedom, leaned upon the arm of Lionel, and interro- 
gated him, in a panting voice and with a pretty little 
startled look : 

“ Do you really think, monsieur, that they saw us ?” 

“ Without doubt, they saw us!” 

” My mother ?” 

“ It seemed to me that I recognised her.” 

“ And what do you think she is going to do ?” 

“ She will send the police after us.” 

They began laughing, like two young lovers as they 
were, when suddenly : 

” Listen 1” said the young girl, ” I hear some one 
coming.” 

M. de Rias listened. 

“Yes, some one is coming; — we are followed. 
Well, mademoiselle, what shall we do ? Shall we give 
ourselves up?” 

“ Already ?” said she. 


.48 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


At that moment, a noise of footsteps, nearer and 
nearer, made them start like two kids, and they rushed 
in haste down a by-path, which wound through the 
neighboring shrubbery and underwood. They walked 
rapidly for some time, the young man going in front 
to push away the branches which almost filled the 
little path, and turning at intervals to smile at his 
laughing betrothed. Suddenly he stopped and very 
carefully advanced his head among the foliage. They 
were at the verge of one of the great avenues of the 
park, where the path ended. 

“What is it, monsieur?” timidly asked Mademoi- 
selle Fitz-Gerald. “What do you see?” 

“ Hush ! 1 see your uncle. They have probably 
sent him to keep us company. He will pass us soon 
— he is looking right and left. Quick! hide yourself I” 
They were near a group of two or three old oaks, 
covered with lichens and moss, whose trunks were 
almost united. Lionel hid behind the trees, while the 
young girl knelt on the moss which carpeted the roots. 


J MARRIAGE IM Ilf CM LI PR. 


49 


They remained thus a few minutes in silence ; he 
standing- up, with his finger on his lips, looking at 
her ; she at his feet, like a child, upturning to him her 
sweet face radiant with pleasure, tenderness and 
innocence. 

The Count Patrice, nevertheless, despatched by 
Madame Fitz-Gerald, with an injunction to put an end 
to this improper tete-a-tete, looked vaguely around — 
like a man who realized the importance of the duty 
which he had undertaken. He stopped a last time, 
and listened; then, accepting the situation, made a 
movement of the head and a gesture of the hand ex- 
pressive of his formal announcement of an abandon- 
ment of the pursuit. A moment later he disap- 
peared. 

Lionel, as soon as he was assured of this happy cir- 
cumstance, hastened to inform Mademoiselle Marie, .. 
upon which she rejoined him in the avenue. 

“And now, monsieur,” said she to him, “what are 

we going to do ?” 

4 


50 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


“ We are going to continue our walk, alone, under 
the blue sky. Is not that charming ?” 

‘'Ah! yes! It is charming,” she replied. “I 
would like to show you the places that I love. Fol- 
low me, monsieur, and have confide,nce.” 

“ I do not know that I ought to have confidence,” 
said Lionel. “ I feel sure that you will get me lost.” 

“ No, no ! do not be afraid !” 

He followed again the beautiful young girl, who 
once more led the way, graceful as a fawn and supple 
as an adder. She wore little slippers, with high heels 
and silver buckles, which seemed ill adapted for an 
excursion in the forest, but in which she nevertheless 
glided along with a marvellous charm of motion. 
Lionel viewed with extraordinary interest the rise and 
fall of those little slippers, showing at each step a 
tread full of elastic firmness, displacing obstacles, 
springing over roots, disentangling themselves from 
loose brushwood, and occasionally becoming lost in 
the dry leaves, only to reappear again triumphant. 


A maurtage in high life. 


51 


They came to the margin of a brook which they 
had to cross upon a dyke of large stones, which a 
humid moss made very slippery. Mademoiselle Fitz- 
Gerald passed over like a bird. Lionel was not so 
fortunate. His foot slipped when he was but half-way 
over and he could not avoid a slight immersion. His 
disaster would have been complete, had not Made- 
moiselle Fitz-Gerald quickly held out her hand to 
him from the bank, while she made the woods echo 
with her bursts of laughter. 

Then she led him gayly from bower to bower, over 
hills and dales, halting from time to time at her 
favorite sites, stopping before the bright and sombre 
scenes which alike stirred her young imagination and 
which she had christened with symbolic names. 
There was The Ball-room — a little clearing, oddly 
hung around with a fringe of trailing creepers, like 
chandeliers ; then The Hermit's Chapel^ not far from 
The Fairies' Ring. Of the sombre class she called 
upon him to admire The Felon's Pool, a little piece of 


52 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


muddy, slimy water, which seemed to hide some sinis- 
ter mystery beneath its stagnant surface ; and The 
Sea'et Pond^ so called because it was suspected of 
dark complicity with The Feloris Pool. 

These little episodes served as texts for pleasant re- 
flections and foolish polemics ; in brief, of all those 
childish nothings, little worthy to be recorded by his- 
tory, but in which the betrothed two took an extreme 
pleasure — for when love sits at the piano, it matters 
little what air is sung to the delicious melody of that 
accompanist. 

Nevertheless, Mademoiselle Marie, having con- 
sulted her watch, uttered an exclamation of affright 
when she saw that nearly two hours had rolled by 
since they set out. 

“ Monsieur, we must go back !” she said. 

“ What a pity !” replied Lionel. 

“Yes.” 

But, in spite of the sigh which accompanied her 
response, she chose the most direct route to the 


A MARRIA GE IN HIGH LIFE. 


53 


chateau. As they approached it they became more 
silent. Their conversation, when attempted at all, no 
longer had the same character of lightness and joy- 
ousness. They were going along a terrace bordered 
by witch-hazels, above the highway. 

“ Ah ! how anxious and troubled I was, the first 
time I passed this terrace !” said Lionel. 

“ Yes ! Why ?" 

“ Because I was afraid I would not please you ! — and 
I was right, for indeed I did not.” 

“ How so ? It seems to me that ” she finished 

her sentence by a look and a smile. 

“Oh, yes; you have become resigned since. But 
admit now that the first time we met I displeased you 
greatly ?” 

“ Why ? What made you think so ?” 

“ Your reception. It was something horrible. You 
affected not even to see me.” 

“ Oh ! that was because I had already seen you.” 


Where ? How ?’ 


54 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


“ There,” she said, showing him the hedge. 

“What!” he exclaimed, “so young and yet so art- 
ful!” pressing affectionately the arm which leaned 
upon his own. 

After a pause : 

“Do you believe,” she said, “that what my aunt 
said was true — that the day before the wedding is the 
happiest in marriage ?” 

“ I am tempted to believe it at this moment,” an- 
swered Lionel ; “ for I cannot imagine an hour sweeter 
than this.” 

“ Nor can I ; but may we not always be as happy 
as we are now ?” 

He stopped, took her two hands in his, and with 
his eyes gazing into hers, said in a very tender voice: 

“ If it will render you happy to be loved, Marie, we 
shall be very happy, for I will love you very dearly. 
Yes, I do love you very much !” he added, still 
more tenderly, drawing her toward him as he 
spoke. 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


55 


She lowered her eyes ; her face assumed a strangely 
serious expression, and in silence she bent toward him 
her forehead, pure and pale, upon which the young 
man reverently, yet lovingly, pressed his lips. 



A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE, 


56 


CHAPTER IV. 

J F you imagine that Madame Fitz-Gerald received 
the two fugitives with anger and reproaches, it 
shows conclusively that you were not acquainted with 
her. Doubtless she was pained by an escapade which 
shocked her ideas of propriety and good behavior, 
but it would have been in the extreme of bad taste for 
her to exag.gerate the gravity of the offence. She 
contented herself with smiling a little and shrugging 
her shoulders at sight of the guilty ones. 

My children, you are ridiculous !” she said to 
them ; you behave like a pair of rustic lovers.” 

“ Mamma,” said Mademoiselle Marie, throwing her 
arms about her mother’s neck, “ we only obeyed my 
aunt.” 


A Marriage in high life. 


57 


“ But your aunt, my dear, is a savage, and you 
ought to know it. She has never lived in the world. 
She is a wild woman — from the forest. That is all.” 

In the afternoon and evening the chateau was the 
theatre of great animation. The different trains from 
Paris successively brought crowds of relations, friends, 
guests and bridemaids, with their baggage. The 
continual rolling of carriages in the court-yard ; the 
welcoming of new-comers ; the laughter of young 
girls : the voices of servants ; the noisy moving of 
trunks up the staircases ; all commingled in a con- 
fused and indescribable tumult. Madame Fitz-Gerald 
and her daughter, aided by Count Patrice, exerted 
themselves to receive their guests, guide them through 
the labyrinths of the corridors, and house them in 
their respective apartments. Lionel, on his part, lent 
with a graceful courtesy what assistance he could, 
although in the bottom of his soul this portion of the 
fete seemed to him very uninteresting. Only one per- 
son held aloof from all the excitement. It was the 


58 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


Countess Jules, who all the time remained seated near 
3 window, knitting with impassible serenity. 

To this violent hurly-burly succeeded softer sounds 
of trailing robes in the lobbies and avalanches of silks 
on the staircases. A royal dinner united all the guests 
in a vast gallery, in the midst of an odorous frame- 
work of foliage and flowers ; after which they passed 
from the gallery into the drawing-room, in that fine 
expansive humor and mutual sympathy which are, in 
all social conditions and in all latitudes, the ordinary 
consequences of a comfortable repast. 

While they took coffee. Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald 
thought it her duty to introduce particularly to her 
betrothed two young women — the Duchess d’Es- 
trdny and Madame de Chelles, who were, like Madame 
de Lorris, her cousins and friends from infancy. 

Madame de Chelles, laughing, petulant, with man- 
ners somewhat boisterous, had still at certain mo- 
ments, in her dark eyes, an odd expression of reverie 
and pensiveness. 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


59 


“ My dear,” she said, abruptly, to Mademoiselle 
Fitz-Gerald, “ the first time that you go to the Bouffes- 
Parisiens or the Palais- Royal, you must take me with 
you. I wish to enjoy your first impressions. It is 
very amusing — as you will see. I married principally 
to go to the minor theatres; but I have commenced 
to tire of it — because my husband gives me too much 
of them.” 

“ You complain, my darling,” broke in M. de Chelles 
upon the conversation, caressing his light moustache 
while he spoke, ” but I, let me tell you, have a system.” 
He spoke in a sententious manner, for he was one of 
those to whom wine lends gravity. “ I share all my 
pleasures with my wife. I am not selfish. I have my 
tastes — but I associate my wife with them. For in- 
stance, I like the minor theatres, where they get off 
good things; well, I take my wife with me. I like to 
drive — I take my wife with me. I go to an opera- 
ball — I take my wife with me. I go to sup with- my 
friends after the ball — my wife sups with us. A wo- 


6o 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


man should be the comrade of her husband. That is 
my system.” 

‘‘Oh! you are a dunce with your system!” ex- 
claimed Madame de Chelles ; “ go on, my friend, and 
you will lose me — I’m weary of you already !” And, 
bursting into a laugh, she turned on her heel. 

The Duchess d’Estrdny was a blonde, slight, ele- 
gant, with eyes full of languor and even sadness. She 
was thus sad because the duke, her husband, liked her 
well enough, but did not passionately love her. When 
M. de Rias was introduced to her by her cousin, she 
studied him with an air of doleful interest; then ten- 
derly embracing Mademoiselle Fitz Gerald: 

“You love' her very much, sir, do you not?” she 
said, with an impressive accent. 

“Yes,” cried at that moment a sonorous and jovial 
voice behind them, “ but love her passionately. That’s 
it. See, my dear Lionel,” continued the Duke d’Es- 
trdny, who was a fine-looking man, of powerful build, 
“ love women with all your heart, or do not meddle 


A MARIiTAQE IN HIGH LIFE. 


6l 


with them. Now I have thrown this poor duchess 
into despair, because I do not love her sufficiently to 
write verses to her. It is a misfortune, I know; but 
I do not know how to make verses — so what can 
I do about it ? I was made that way. I — do — not — 
write — verses !' ’ 

He pronounced his words with an emphasis, as if 
he meant it to be understood, that while repudiating 
verses he was a prose-writer of the highest order. 

During this tirade, the dutchess took off her gloves 
and adjusted her rings, with a look of cold inatten- 
tion. When the duke finished his good-natured 
declaration, she simply turned to Mademoiselle Fitz- 
Gerald and said : 

“ Are you coming ?” 

They went together to the piano. The duchess 
first, in a fusillade of chromatic fireworks, solaced her 
indignant soul. Then a waltz, by four hands, burst 
noisily through the drawing-room and set palpitating 
the corsages of the bridesmaids. 


62 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


A little later in the evening, Lionel came and 
seated himself besides Madame de la Veyle, who 
looked with pleasure on this family fte. 

“ My dear godmother,” he asked her, seriously, “ is 
there still time to break off?” 

” What ! To break off!” she exclaimed, bounding 
up from her seat. “ Are you crazy ?” 

” I am, certainly, about Mademoiselle Fitz-Ger- 
ald.” 

“ And then what ?” 

At that same moment, Mademoiselle Marie, who 
was waltzing, stopped before them, and bending over 
said quickly, with a smile on her lips : 

“What is he saying to you, madame ?” 

“ Oh ! He is telling me that he is crazy about 
you.” 

“Ah! what a pleasant madness!” exclaimed the 
young girl, gayly, springing again into the midst of 
the whirlpool of dancers. 

“ Never,” confided Lionel, “ have I appreciated her 


J MJBBIAGB m HIGH LIFE. 


63 


as to-day ; she is simple, true, tender, honest — she is 
a charming creature, an exquisite being !” 

Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald understood that they 
were still speaking of her, and stopped a second time 
in the same place. 

“ What is he saying to you now, madamc ?” she 
asked in an undertone. 

“ He is saying that you are an exquisite being.” 

“ Then he. has indeed gone mad,” said she, and, 
radiant with happiness, she again consigned herself to 
the arms of her partner, who did not seem much 
amused by this by-play. 

“ But, this evening,” continued M. de Rias, ” I am 
tormented by the most sinister ideas.” 

“ What ideas, my poor friend ?” 

I have remarked one frightful thing. We have 
among our guests seven or eight married couples, who 
have not been chosen, but are taken at hazard from 
the world. Well, there is not a single pair which is 
not in a flagrant condition of misunderstanding or 


64 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


disunion. Cast your eyes about you, and I defy you 
to deny it.” 

The old lady glanced about the drawing-room, and, 
pursing up her lips, replied : 

It is certainly true that we have not here the best 
specimens of exemplary households.” 

“ Well,” continued Lionel, “ I say to myself, bitterly, 
that all these people, or at least the greatest number 
of them, have loved as we love — Mademoiselle Fitz- 
Gerald and myself; that they have all had a day 
before marriage, full of charm and hope — like ours ; 
and I conclude from all this that there must be in 
our state "of civilization — particularly, perhaps, in our 
wordly manners — some general causes which alter 
marriage in its source, and there deposit a fatal germ, 
which strikes with sterility the most generous and 
sincere dispositions, and almost invariably makes of 
an institution of love and peace one of hate and war. 
You must admit that these are terrible thoughts for a 
man who is going to be married to-morrow.” 


1 MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


65 


“ Good gracious ! do not start upon such a wild- 
goose chase answered the marquise. “ There are 
no general causes ; there is no fatal germ ; there is 
nothing of the kind. As I have already had the 
honor to say to you, there are bad husbands, and that 
is all.” 

“ But I do not at all admit your theory,” cried 
Lionel. “ It is in all respects a great deal too abso- 
lute.” 

“ Pardon me, my friend. If you will permit me, let 
us examine a little these husbands here, I beg of you. 
There is, in the first place, the Duke d’Estrdny. He 
is a very good man, no doubt, and not a bad husband 
possibly, but he is a ridiculous blunderer. His wife is 
a little, delicate, sentimental woman— while he is a 
blacksmith ! yes, positively a blacksmith ! In ad- 
dition to which, he is continually joking her about 
her innocent mania for romance. Well, he wounds 
her — he exasperates her. In time she will find 
some one - who will comprehend her — that is cer- 

5 


66 


A MARRIAGE JX HIGH LIFE. 


tain ; and whose fault will it be ? N^-9:t, we have 
little de Chelles 

“ Oh ! de Chelles !” said Lionel. “ I do'TOf defend 
him. He wants to make his wife lead a bachelor’s 
life. He is a fool!” ' . ' 

“ Good !” assented the marquise. ” There, we have 
already two. As for the others, it is still worse. You 
are not ignorant that Monsieur d’Eblis commenced by 
causing his wife to be patronized in public by his 
mistress. That was a pretty beginning. And there 
is one whose sordid avarice has pushed his wife to all 
sorts of expedients — borrowing, and all that follows 
it. If you do not know about that already, I tell you 
of it now. Charny, on the contrary, is not a miser ; 
he has just given to Mademoiselle I-don’t-know-who, 
of the Varieties, an equipage worth fifty-five thousand 
francs, and his wife, modestly drawn by a pair of 
horses costing three thousand francs, meets her every 
day in that equipage ; and knows from whom she 
received it — be sure of that. M. de Lastere is a serious 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


67 


man — too s ious — aspires to be a minister of state. 
He occup Himself constantly with political economy. 
His wife derstands nothing of that ; so he despises 
her and neglects her ; but he pities her. He sends 
her all the young men that he meets on the boulevard, 
saying to them : ‘ Go and see my wife !’ ' Go and keep 

my wife company!’ ^ Go and have some music with 
my wife T That poor Laumel there has quiet tastes 
— he is modest — he is timid — he distrusts even him- 
self. He is afraid of actresses, afraid of women of the 
world, and, above all, afraid of his wife ; but he is not 
afraid of chambermaids, and they are his consolation. 
Now, my friend, it seems to me that is all — and is 
not all that reassuring for you ?” 

“ I beg your pardon. Not in the least in the world 
so,” said Lionel, laughing, in spite of himself, at this 
pitiless enumeration. “ In the first place, I find it very 
difficult to believe that the wives of all these gentle- 
men are entirely victims, perfectly innocent of wrong 
toward their husbands. Furthermore, even in com- 


68 


A MAJiJilAOA' IN JIIG// IJFE. 


placcntly lending my assent to your system, I ask 
myself what man can flatter himself with a certainty 
of not being in some one of your categories ; for, in 
short, if one is not perverse and a fool, one may be a 
blunderer, and how many ways are there in which a 
man may be a blunderer ?” 

“There are about one hundred thousand, my friend,” 
said the marquise ; “ and there is one in particular, 
which consists in talking philosophy, and searching 
for the quintessence of things with his old godmother, 
instead of waltzing with his young wife, while she is 
dying of envy.” 

Uppn this sage observation, M. de Rias hastened to 
his duty — which had not yet ceased to be a pleasure 
— and soon forgot, when looking into the blue eyes of 
his betrothed, the dismal reflections which a moment 
before had possessed him. 

The next day, which was that of the wedding, ap- 
peared quite insupportable to Lionel. He had, some 
time before, timidly suggested to Madame Fitz-Gerald 


A MA RRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


69 


the idea of having the civil and religious ceremonies 
performed at six o’clock in the morning, or at mid- 
night, in the strict seclusion of the family circle. 
Madame Fitz-Gerald, however, repulsed this proposi- 
tion as a savage eccentricity, which would have lent to 
the marriage of her daughter a clandestine character. 
The marriage took place at mid-day, to the sound of 
the village bells, and in the midst of the public fes- 
tivity, he had to submit to the curiosity of the 
crowd, the multi-colored cockades of the horses, the 
new liveries of the coachmen, the coarse joy of the 
servants — in brief, all the inevitable associations, de- 
monstrative and vulgar, of a wedding. 

During the religious ceremony, which was the only 
thing that pleased and touched him, M. de Rias was 
not slow to remark one fact which gave some appear- 
ance of reason to his godmother’s theory. Among 
the wedding-guests the men were, for the most part, 
in careless attitudes, indifferent or slightly ironical; 
while the women were, on the contrary, very serious, 


70 


A MAI^RTAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


showing a sort of passionate fervor, or, as they bent 
over their chairs, an absorption in mysterious medita- 
tions. Some wept, all seemed to remember with 
agony that there has been in their lives such an hour, 
filled with purity, confidence, hope and sweet vows 
that they would have liked to have kept 

It had been at first intended to terminate the 
wedding-feast by the immediate departure of the 
young couple for Scotland or Italy ; but Madame 
Fitz-Gerald had supplicated her son-in-law to leave 
her her daughter fora little while yet, and M. de Rias, 
too essentially a Parisian to like travel, willingly gave 
consent to her solicitations. 

It must be owned that he repented of so doing, 
however, when, the day after marriage, he had to de- 
scend to the drawing-room at the breakfast hour and 
display himself before a dozen relatives and friends 
who had remained at the chateau. In this unwonted 
conjuncture even the most self-possessed men are in 
reality very much embarrassed by their countenances ; 


A pjARRlAQh: IN HlOH LIFE. 


71 


in such a situation the smile is awkward ; the laugh 
out of place ; freedom and expansiveness, the manner 
of a ninny ; languor and prostration, ridiculous ; the 
air of triumph, gross. A natural air would be best, 
but that is impossible. 

Madame de Rias, on her side, appeared with that 
self-possession w’hich distinguishes young wives of a 
day. She served tea as usual, smiling placidly, with 
a pure forehead and a limpid eye. 

During this morning the Countess Jules quitted 
the chateau. After getting into her carriage, she 
called her grandniece to her, embraced her for the 
last time, and left her, as a farewell, this fine maxim : 

“ Remember always, poor child, that woman is made 
to suffer — and man to be suffered." 


72 


A MARJUAGE JN niGH LIFE. 


CHAPTER V. 

y^FTER two or three weeks passed at Fresnes, in 
the enchantment of their mutual love, M. and 
Madame de Rias settled in Paris towards the com- 
mencement of October, in a small house in the rue 
Vauneaw that belonged to Lionel. 

Madame Fitz-Gerald came back at the same time to 
occupy her apartments in the rue Chaussde-de-Antin. 

It was a little far from her daughter, but shre was 
accustomed to that quarter — and it was a quiet 
quarter, she fearlessly declared. 

The truth was, that the faubourg Saint-Germaine, 
by its comparative solitude, reminded her of the 
country, which she held in horror. 

It was on one of the first days of February, the 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


73 


following winter, and the honeymoon had not yet 
ceased to shine with its sweet light in the sky of the 
young couple, that Madame de Rias summoned her 
mother to her by a furtive note. 

Madame Fitz-Gerald went with all speed to the rue 
Vauneaw ; after a mysterious conference with her 
daughter, she sought M. de Rias, who was writing in 
the library ; her eyes were moist, but her face was 
radiant. 

“ My friend,” she said to him, in a tone full of feel- 
ing, “ Marie is not very well this morning — but it is 
nothing serious — nothing serious, I assure you. With 
a modesty very natural in a young woman, she did 
not like to tell you herself And now go and em- 
brace her !” 

“ What ! Truly, dear madame ?” asked Lionel. 

“ Yes, indeed ; go and kiss her ! That will make 
her feel better.” 

“ But Is she worrying about anything ?” 

“Not at all. What should she worry about? She 


74 


A mauiuacf: in II ran iafn 


has the finest health in the world ; nevertheless, it is a 
circumstance which always astonishes young wives a 
little ; so go and embrace her.” 

Lionel hurried away to'perform this agreeable duty, 
while Madame Fitz-Gerald slowly paced the library, 
softly fanning herself with her handkerchief and per- 
fuming the air with exquisite odors. 

A few minutes later, three perfectly happy people 
were seated at the breakfast-table. Madame Fitz- 
Gerald, proud of her daughter, contemplated her with 
an air of tender triumph. Madame de Rias, secretly 
proud of herself, displayed a blending of gayety and 
confusion quite charming. Lionel admired his wife, 
who appeared to him extremely touching under this 
new aspect of a young mother in flower. 

The interesting event which had just been officially 
communicated to M. de Rias, caused him more than 
one sort of satisfaction. 

Not only did it flatter his legitimate pride of family, 
but at the same time it awakened in his heart gener- 


J JfA/^RrAOE IN HfOH LIFE. 


7 $ 


ous feelings ; it also seemed as if it would put an end 
to that first period of marriage which Lionel had 
accepted with good grace, but of which he ardently 
desired the close. This period had naturally been 
consecrated to the amusement of his young wife, and 
in particular to those mundane pleasures which had 
for her the attraction of forbidden fruit. 

He had taken her to the minor theatres with her 
cousin de Chelles ; he had allowed her to taste till 
dawn the intoxication of the dance. He had permitted' 
her to hunt. In short, he had feasted and spoiled' 
her like a lover and a courteous gentleman. He had 
even accompanied her in her wedding visits, although 
her circle of friends appeared to him unnaturally ex- 
tended. 

There were many of these pleasures and duties for 
which M. de Rias had for a long time, like the gener- 
ality of men of his age, lost the taste and the habit. 
For his own part, he visited very rarely, making calls 
only when necessary, or choosing the most agreeable. 


76 


A M Alim AGE IK tilGIt LIFE. 


He had formerly been a most passionate leader of the 
German, but now he could hardly explain to himself 
how he could ever have indulged in such a childish 
pastime ; and all sorts of fashionable gatherings, espe- 
cially where they danced, had become to him abso- 
lutely insupportable. 

He passed his evenings at his club, when he did not 
devote them to study. He still went to theatres, but 
as a critical amateur, or rather as one who has been 
much behind the scenes. 

Sustained by his love for his young wife, he had 
taken up again, and for a time with amiability, some 
of the tastes of his own youth. 

This bitter-sweet phase of wedlock had, however, 
been contemplated in his programme, but he did not 
intend it should pass to the chronic stage, and he had 
commenced to dream of quietly settling down, when 
the fortunate indisposition of Madame de Rias came 
to solve the problem like an interposition of Provi- 
dence. 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


77 


A few fears still tormented him; he apprehended 
that his wife, thus baulked of her enjoyment 
in the full tide of fashionable life, in the height 
of the season, would rebel against her destiny, and 
not even try to reason with herself; but in this he 
was mistaken. If he had his programme, his wife 
had hers, and that which had happened made part 
of it ; it was the anticipated, and even desired, 
complement of her adornment and dignity as a 
wife. 

Far from pretending to dissimulate to herself or 
others her maternal hopes, she took an innocent pride 
in dwelling upon them. 

Without any hesitation she gave up going out of 
evenings, and received calls in a loose, flowing robe, 
lying on an extension-chair. 

All this appeared very reassuring to M. de Rias ; 
such a complete and cheerful resignation to such a 
severe trial left him no doubt that he had found in 
Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald the ideal of which he had 


78 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


dreamed, and which is the general dream of his sex — 
a domestic wife. 

Well satisfied with the present, Lionel cast his eyes 
confidently towards the future. What could in the 
time to come alter a union of which each day of inti- 
macy drew closer the ties, and established more per- 
fect harmony ? On his wife’s side there was no 
danger to apprehend ; within a few months he had 
learned to know her well. She was , perfectly upright 
and true ; she had only honest instincts, strengthened 
by the education and example she had received from 
an honest mother. She loved her husband, she pos- 
sessed all that was required to please him, and to 
attach him to her. Charming to behold, she was not 
less so to hear, for she was intelligent and witty. Her 
only defect was in the evident incompleteness of her 
education — in her instruction ; in several circumstances 
Lionel would have been able to state that his wife’s 
knowledge of matters historical and literary was 
strangely vague, but there was even in her very ignor- 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


79 


ance something piquant and most amusing, in her 
fantastic way of stating things. 

As for M. de Rias, however severely he questioned 
himself, he could not find himself guilty, nor capable 
of the wrongs generally attributed by unhappy hus- 
bands to their own faults. 

Without exaggerating his personal advantages, he 
was aware of them, and considered he was justified in 
having confidence in them. 

He was worthy the affection of a wife ; he could 
not doubt that he had conquered the heart of his own; 
'by what fault or clumsy blunder might he ever alien- 
ate it ? He surely was in no danger of breaking up 
on the usual ordinary rocks ahead ; he could not even 
take credit for avoiding them, since nothing in his 
tastes drew him towards them. He was not miserly, 
and gave Madame de Rias a very liberal allowance 
for pin-money and for household expenses. 

'‘He was not a man to demoralize his wife himself by 
taking her out to sup in private rooms. 


So 


.1 MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


He was not blind, and he knew how to keep away 
from his house perilous intimacies, instead of inviting 
them, as so many do. 

He had greatly modified his opinion in many things ; 
besides, he loved his wife, and felt no temptation to 
inflict upon her the outrage of a rival. 

In short, on his side, as well as on that of Madame 
de Rias, he saw, after mature examination, nothing 
but what guaranteed a peaceful union and enduring 
happiness. 

A gentleman of elegant manners, M. de Rias 
was also a student, and a man of letters. For- 
merly he had made a very creditable debut in 
diplomacy ; but he had suddenly relinquished that 
career in order to live with his mother when she 
became a widow. 

At last, to occupy his idle hours, which weighed 
upon and mortified him, he had commenced, with a 
good deal of mystery, an important literary work, 
which elevated him in his own eyes and inspired him 


A MAI^BrAOi: IN HIGH LIFE. 


8l 


with hope of public honor ; it was a History of French 
Diplomacy in the Eighteenth Century. 

This serious labor was accomplished very slowly, 
and often interrupted by the distractions of an out- 
door life. Lionel had always intended to apply him- 
self to it steadily, when marriage should have made 
his life more regular, in rendering his home more 
attractive. That day being come, he kept his word, 
and thenceforth passed a good deal of his time in 
culling from the archives of foreign affairs material 
which he afterward classified, and used in his library. 

In order to diversify this employment, M. de Rias 
fell back into some of his former habits, which had 
become almost indispensable to him, and which ap- 
peared to him honorably reconcilable to the marriage 
state. 

A connoisseur in art, and something of a sports- 
man, he loved to follow Parisian life in its incessant 
and varying manifestations. He liked to watch from 

day to day events as they arose, sometimes from the 

6 


8o 


.1 MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


He was not blind, and he knew how to keep away 
from his house perilous intimacies, instead of inviting 
them, as so many do. 

He had greatly modified his opinion in many things ; 
besides, he loved his wife, and felt no temptation to 
inflict upon her the outrage of a rival. 

In short, on his side, as well as on that of Madame 
de Rias, he saw, after mature examination, nothing 
but what guaranteed a peaceful union and enduring 
happiness. 

A gentleman of elegant manners, M. de Rias 
was also a student, and a man of letters. For- 
merly he had made a very creditable debut in 
diplomacy ; but he had suddenly relinquished that 
career in order to live with his mother when she 
became a widow. 

At last, to occupy his idle hours, which weighed 
upon and mortified him, he had commenced, with a 
good deal of mystery, an important literary work, 
which elevated him in his own eyes and inspired him 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


8i 


with hope of public honor ; it was a History of French 
Diplomacy in the Eighteenth Century. 

This serious labor was accomplished very slowly, 
and often interrupted by the distractions of an out- 
door life. Lionel had always intended to apply him- 
self to it steadily, when marriage should have made 
his life more regular, in rendering his home more 
attractive. That day being come, he kept his word, 
and thenceforth passed a good deal of his time in 
culling from the archives of foreign affairs material 
which he afterward classified, and used in his library. 

In order to diversify this employment, M. de Rias 
fell back into some of his former habits, which had 
become almost indispensable to him, and which ap- 
peared to him honorably reconcilable to the marriage 
state. 

A connoisseur in art, and something of a sports- 
man, he loved to follow Parisian life in its incessant 
and varying manifestations. He liked to watch from 
day to day events as they arose, sometimes from the 


82 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


p irlors of his club, sometimes from the grand stands 
at the races, and sometimes from the green-rooms of 
theatres. 

In the meantime, his young wife waited for him 
with a tender impatience ; he always found her in a 
state of profound contentment, and his life now real- 
ized his most ambitious hopes ; a smiling face wel- 
comed him the moment he entered — that of a wife 
eager to spare him the anxious details of material 
life ; a: chimney-corner always bright, flowers always 
fresh, an asylum ready at all times to shelter him from 
fatigue and annoyance — in short, the charm of a 
peaceful and luxurious home, added to the interest of 
his individual pursuits and recreations, w’as what M. 
dc Rias had taken delight in .fancying would be his in 
marriage — and he is not the only man who thus 
dreams. 

Apart from some natural fears, the time that Madame 
de Rias was obliged to pass on the extension-chair 
was for her, as for her husband, a delicious period. 


83 


A MAURI age in HIGH LIFE. 

She was very much visited and surrounded by 
friends ; her brilliant cousins, Mesdames de Lords, de 
Chelles, d’Estr^ny, brought her almost every day the 
news of the city. Her mother only left her to ran- 
sack shops, and select materials for an infant’s outfit, 
which were afterwards submitted to Madame de Rias 
for her approbation. 

Her easy chair, and even the floor, was continually 
inundated with fine linen, flannel stuffs, lace, ribbons, 
and strange little articles. 

Mesdames de Lords, de Chelles and d’Estrdny chat- 
tered over them, and offered advice from their ex- 
perience. Towards the close of the day, M. de Rias 
fell into the circle of agreeable matrons, and redoubled 
the animation. 

He generally arrived with his pockets and his 
hands full of little boxes, large sacs or mysterious 
packages, which the ladies undid. 

They admired the jewelry, shared the flowers, and 
ate the sweetmeats — it was a regular high holiday. 


84 


A MARRIAGE m HIGH LIFE. 


The arrival of the Countess Jules towards the 
month of August lent to the above circumstances a 
graver character. A few days later, she was seen 
holding at the baptismal font the new-born Louis 
Henry Patrice de Rias. 

The next day she left with her knitting for her 
manor-house in the environs of Cherbourg. 


A MARRIAGE /A HIGH LIRE. 




CHAPTER VI. 

ADAME DE RIAS recovered with a prompt- 
itude which did honor to her constitution, and 
she soon showed herself on the boulevard in all her 
maternal glory, escorted by a provincial nurse whose 
odd head-dress and black eyes awoke the profane 
attention of pedestrians. 

Lionel ardently desired that his wife should nurse 
their son herself, but Madame Fitz-Gerald, in the 
name of the health and beauty of her daughter, had 
opposed to this desire some of those specious femi- 
nine arguments to which men have nothing to reply, 
because they know no better themselves. 

He congratulated himself, however, that the young 
mother busied herself with her child with solicitude ; 


86 ^ MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 

but he saw at the same time that even this occupation 
left Madame de Rias considerable leisure. He did 
not indeed expect to fill all the void ; during the day 
he led his accustomed life, for it is not the custom for 
husbands to accompany their wives in their visits and 
in their daily walks, and in this matter he thought he 
was pleasing his wife in leaving her her independence, 
even as it pleased him to retain his own. He was not 
so fortunate as regards the evenings ; both propriety 
and prudence forbade him to allow Madame de Rias 
to attend balls and theatres without her husband, and 
a heightened taste for these recreations manifested 
itself in the young wife, after the long months of 
seclusion and abstinence which she had undergone. 
The Parisian season was particularly brilliant that 
winter, and Lionel considered himself lucky when he 
was not obliged to go to three or four parties the 
same evening ; but his wife had certainly a right to 
some indemnification in the way of enjoyment, and, 
although his work and habits were greatly disturbed 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


87 


by this feverish gayety, M. de Rias, in the cause of 
justice and of affection, resigned himself to it with a 
good grace, at least apparently ; it was, he hoped, only 
a passing crisis — perhaps he also flattered himself 
in the bottom of his heart that Providence, which had 
so bountifully interposed in his behalf the preceding 
winter, would again come to his aid in this new trial. 

One morning, as they were finishing breakfast, his 
wife, who had been remarkably quiet and dreamy 
during the repastj suddenly covered her face with her 
hands and burst into tears. 

“ My dear child, what’s the matter now ?” inquired 
M. de Rias, going to her. 

“ Nothing,” she said, in the midst of her weeping ; 
nothing — I wish to see my mother.” 

“ But what has happened ? What is the matter ?” 

“ Nothing. Send for my mother, I beg of youl” 

As she spoke, Madame Fitz-Gerald, attracted, no 
doubt, to the rue Vauneaw by some vague presenti- 
ment, entered the dining-room. Her daughter, with- 


88 


A MAI^HIAGA^ IN HIGH LIFE. 
, \ 


out giving her time even to be astonished, seized and 
immediately dragged her into the adjoining room, and 
Lionel a moment afterwards heard a confused duet of 
plaintive murmurs and stifling sobs. 

The situation was* painful for M. de Rias . he 
shrugged his shoulders, lit a cigar, and ran his eye 
over a newspaper while awaiting the end of the con- 
ference. 

In about a half an hour, which seemed very long to 
him, the door opened, and Madame Fitz-Gerald ap- 
peared alone, with red eyes and inflamed face; she 
promised her daughter to come to see her in the 
course of the day; then she shut the door, and, going 
to her son-in-law, wrapping her furs around her, she 
said to him : 

“You might dispense with killing my daughter!” 

After which she walked out majestically. 

M. de Rias, in another difficult position, proved once 
again that he had the heart and mind of a gallant and 
honorable gentleman. After subduing, not without 


A Marriage in high lire. 


89 


effort, the promptings of his pride, he wient to his 
wife, who was still bathed in tears. He talked to her 
in a way that was reasonable, tender and cheerful ; 
scolded her a little, kissed her a great deal, and 
finished by persuading her that she was a little woman 
worthy of pity, but at the same time much loved and 
passably happy. 

When Madame Fitz-Gerald came back, towards the 
middle of the day, she found them on the sofa, hand- 
in-hand, smiling at young Louis-Patrice going through 
his primary gymnastics on the floor. 

“You can hardly imagine, my dear,” Lionel said, 
gayly. to his wife, “how hard your mother was on 
me this morning!” 

“ Oh, my friend,” replied Madame Fitz- Gerald, 
slightly appeased by the family scene before her, “ I 
ask a thousand pardons! I was wrong. I confess 
there are things for which there is no name ; but it 
seems that such treatment suits her ; therefore I have 
nothing more to say.” 


90 


A MAnniAGE IN BiGH LWB. 


“ It does not suit me, mamma,” said Madame de 
Rias, “but I have reasoned with myself about it.” 

“Oh ! well,, then it is all right.” 

Lionel did not believe that he had paid too dearly, 
at the price of this slight storm, for the new period of 
repose, of calm and domesticity, which that morning 
seemed to inaugurate in his home. 

He already saw unfolding before him a series of 
peaceful and comfortable months in 'a charming 
picture, in which his wife’s extension-chair would 
occupy the centre. 

It was a deceitful mirage. He was not slow to per- 
ceive that the best expedients wear out, and that the 
same causes do not always produce the same effects. 

The general health of Madame de Rias was so 
much better than the year before that she was able to 
go to parties and other places of amusement during 
the rest of the winter; she passed the summer at 
Trouville, in accordance with the advice of an obliging 
physician, and only resorted to the extension-chair at 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


91 


the last extremity ; that is to say, during a period of 
fifteen days. In short, without ill-nature, or pouting, 
but even with spirit, she appeared to apply herself to 
the task of demonstrating to certain people that they 
did not gain much by their Machiavellian calculations. 

M. de Rias fell into a state of moral discourage- 
ment. 

A charming little girl was born to him, it is true; 
but would the increase of his young family and the 
attention demanded by the two children, have the 
effect of calming their mother’s rage for worldly 
pleasures, and keep her by her own fireside? He 
hardly thought so, and he was right. 

Madame de Rias gave to her maternal duties the 
time required by them, but she pursued with un- 
diminished zeal the only kind of life of which she had 
any notion, and which seemed to her perfectly correct 
and irreproachable. 

Lionel tried palliatives. He imposed certain re- 
5trictions^ and, in order to, induce her to accept them 


92 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


without murmuring, he managed to secure the aid of 
his mother-in-law. 

There arose a question of one of those charity fairs 
which fashionable ladies delight to get up for the 
benefit of the poor, where, attracted by their fine eyes, 
society people clustered around their elegant little 
shops. Madame de Rias, invited to figure among 
the beautiful saleswomen, solicited her husband’s 
consent. 

“ My dear,” he said to her, “you shall certainly do as 
you please, or rather your mother shall decide for you. 
Madame,” he added, addressing himself to Madame 
Fitz-Gerald, “ your knowledge of the proprieties is so 
great, your tact is so good and delicate — if you will 
permit me to say so, so exquisite — what do you think 
of it ?” 

Madame Fitz-Gerald, thus attacked on her weak 
point, replied : 

“To speak frankly, I am not crazy about such 
exhibitions, In my time, there were no such things. 


93 


MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE, 

It is true that the young women of to-day are not so 
particular.” 

“You hear what your mother says, my dear child,” 
added M. de Rias. “I own that I am quite of her 
opinion, and that I should be horrified to see the 
name of my wife in the papers, with pleasant criticisms 
upon her dress and appearance. I do not desire, in a 
word, that you should make part of that which is 
vulgarly called ‘ all Paris.' And while I am in a 
mood for playing the tyrant, I would like to strike 
out from the list of your present or future recreations 
all those which expose a woman to that sort of 
unhealthy publicity. I see by her looks that your 
mother approves of what I say, and that encourages 
me. I would suppress noisy appearances at the races, 
clandestine visits to not-over respectable theatres, to 
fancy-dress balls, and parlor theatricals; in fine, always 
deferring to the good taste of your mother, I would 
have you avoid all that which your cousin Madame 
de Chelles seeks and permits herself to do. I would 


94 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


even like, if your mother does not gainsay it, to sup- 
press Madame de Chelles herself, who is decidedly a 
lady one shpuld not receive — is it not so, dear ma- 
dame ?” 

Madame Fitz-Gerald replied, 

“ She is certainly a young woman who is becoming 
Very fast. For that matter, my daughter is not very 
fortunate in her cousins, except Madame de Lorris, 
who is perfection itself ; but that poor duchess would 
give me a great deal of disquietude if I had the pre- 
rogative of being her husband.” 

‘'Oh, mamma!” exclaimed Madame de *Rias, who 
wished to make an end of her sacrifices, ” leave me 
the duchess. It is true, she is something of a coquette 
— but there is no harm in her, and she pleases me so 
much 1” 

“ If she pleases her so much,” said M. de Rias, “ let 
us leave her the duchess.” 

He did not add, that the duchess also pleased him 
very much ; it was the truth, however. 


A MA/^BIAGF IN HIGH LIFE. 


95 


After having inserted into the pleasures of his wife 
this species of clipping, Lionel did not feel himself in 
reality any happier than before. 

At some points, his dignity as a husband, and his 
susceptibility, had better safeguards, but his personal 
independence continued very much restricted. With- 
in the limits he had drawn, Madame de Rias had still 
a wide circle of active fashionable life, and, obliged to 
follow her into it, he bore, under his habitually grave 
and courteous appearance, a sense of profound weari- 
ness and annoyance. 



96 


A MARRIAGE IN HWTI ltFl\ 


CHAPTER VII. 

y^BOUT this period, Madame de Rias experienced 
great regret on account of being separated from 
one of her cousins, who held the largest and best 
merited place in her affections. 

Madame de Lords went to join her husband, who 
had just returned from Cochin China, and who in- 
tended to pass one or two years at Cherbourg before 
going to sea again. At the same time, in order to 
please Lionel, Madame de Rias allowed her relations 
with Madame de Chelles to become colder and colder, 
in consequence of which that lady became her enemy. 

Her friendship increased for the Duchess d’Es- 
treny, whose languishing graces, tender melancholy 
and distinguished bearing possessed great attraction 


.1 MARlilAQE IN HIGH LIFE. 


97 


for her. They had a ball together that year at the 
Opera and the Fran^ais. 

The duchess returned the sympathy of her cousin. 
She took an affectionate interest in the happiness 
of her young household. She asked, fixing upon her 
her beautiful eyes, bathed in their eternal sadness : 

“ Your husband loves you very much, does he not, 
darling ?” 

“ I believe so,” Madame de Rias replied. 

” With all his heart ?” 

“ Yes, it seems so.” 

“ And you wish for nothing more ?” 

“ No.” 

“ Poor angel ! how happy you are 

And she kissed her forehead maternally. 

It was a custom of the duchess to cast curious, and 
sometimes not very discreet glances on the conjugal 
relations of the young wives of her acquaintance. 
All husbands, except her own, had especial interest 
for her. 

7 


98 


A MAURI AGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


Their manner of living, language and proceed- 
ings, when in the domestic circle, interested her, 
and she made mental comparisons, in which, it is 
to be doubted if the duke obtained the advantage. 
It is true that the duke continued to joke and tease 
her about her romantic manias and ideal reveries, 
forgetting that one exasperates a sick person by 
doubting the gravity of his disease, and tempts him 
to die of it. 

The duchess, apparently for the purpose of protest- 
ing against the materialism of her husband, and espe- 
cially against his excellent appetite, affected to eat 
very little. She willingly persuaded herself that she 
could live on fruits and flowers. 

All day long she nibbled at rose and lilac leaves. 
As to fruits she only liked the most rare. In all 
seasons she had pineapples in her hot-house; she cut 
them herself in thin slices, and kept them beside her 
on a small table. The duke, with his gross joviality, 
insisted that she got up in the night, like the ghoul in 


A MAn'niAai': m mou ltfe 


99 


Arabian stories ; that he had followed her, found 
her seated at a table, devouring a hare and ham^ 
pie. 

“And the quantity she ate,” he added, “ frightened 
me !” 

The duchess had dancing at her house every Tues- 
day, and Madame de Rias was constant in her attend- 
ance. One night, or rather one morning, when she 
had entirely forgotten herself in the delights of a co- 
tillion, indefinitely prolonged, her cousin de Chelles, 
who was about leaving, said to her over her shoulder 
as she passed her, 

“When you wan^ your husband, my dear, you 
will find him in the hot-house, with Sabine, you 
know.” 

Madame de Chelles accompanied this benevolent 
information with a significant smile, very slight, but 
it did not escape Madame de Rias. 

She thanked her with a look and continued to 
dance until she saw her disappear. Then, under the 


100 


A MARRIAGE TN HIGH TAPE 


pretext of fatigue, she made a curtesy to her partner 
and left him with a careless air. 

She passed through two or three parlors which 
Were almost deserted, and stopped at last before a 
glass door through which she could see the interior 
of the hot-house. The young wife looked through 
the large exotic foliage with which the hot-house was 
magnificently shaded, and a chill ran through her 
Veins. 

Nevertheless what she saw was nothing very extra- 
ordinary. Her husband was peacefully seated on a 
sofa by the side of the duchess, and they were talking 
in a low voice and smiling. Their dialogue did not 
seem even very animated ; there were pauses and 
silences; at intervals, the duchess plucked the leaves 
off some violets which had faded on her bosom, and 
ate them, and from time to time, she threw a few to 
M. de Rias, who also appeared to find them very 
savory. Passing then to something more substantial, 
the duchess took from a plate of Japanica ware, a 


A uMARHIAGI^J IN HIGH LTFK. 


IQI 


slice of her dear pineapple, and put her white teeth 
upon it, but she only ate the half of it, and, after a 
moment's hesitation, during which M. de Rias mur- 
mured something probably very eloquent, she gave 
him the other half 

Madame de Rias, seeing the disquieting progress 
which followed the poetic repast, judged it unneces- 
sary to wait for a third course. 

She entered the hot-house noisily. 

“ Ah ! you are there, are you ?” she said. “ Well, 
are you coming ?” 

“What, already?” said Lionel, laughing, and rising 
hastily; “it’s hardly three o’clock, my dear. You 
astonish me I” 

She received, or rather submitted to, the parting kiss 
of the duchess, and they left. 

They were hardly in the carriage when Madame de 
Rias fell into a profound sleep, and Lionel felt the 
apprehensions which his troubled conscience sug- 
gested to him die away. 


102 


J MARIUAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


Arrived at home, Madame de Rias immediately 
seized him by both hands, almost with violence, 
and, looking him in the eyes, said, in a broken 
voice : 

“ I am so unhappy !” 

Then she threw herself into an arm-chair, and 
began sobbing bitterly, biting the lace of her pocket- 
liandkerchief 

This explosion of grief had been so sudden that 
M. de Rias was struck speechless ; but soon regaining 
his wits, he approached his wife, and seating himself 
at her feet on a stool : 

“Come, Marie,” he said, affectionately ; “what’s the 
matter, darling?” 

And as she only responded by new transports of 
despair : 

“ Oh ! I know !” he continued, “ I know^what it is! 
You saw me eating the duchess’s violets. It’s that, 
isn’t it?” 

She tried to speak in the midst of her sobs, 


A Jf/J IN HIGH LIFH. 


103 


“ And the pineapple,” she said. 

The pathetic way in which she uttered this word 
made M. de Rias smile. 

“ And the pineapple, too. The list is complete.” 

” My misery is complete,” said the young wife, 
sadly. 

” As to that, you cannot think so, my darling girl,” 
replied Lionel. “ You are too sensible to take such 
childishnessj-'SerioLisly. You well know it never leads 
to anything; above all, with a person like your cousin, 
who is such a pure spirit, and only speaks in the 
language of flowers.” 

“And fruits,” said Madame de Rias, becoming more 
herself again. 

‘‘ And fruits, if you will. I don’t pretend to excuse 
her, mark that. Such coquettishness is highly im- 
proper. She was wrong to permit it, and I to lend 
myself to it. But frankly, child, what is the moral of 
this story?” 

Frarikiy, I none/’ sajd his wife, 


104 


A MARRIAGE IN' HIGH LIFE. 


“ Well, then, permit me to point it out to you,” 
said Lionel, rising, the better to display his eloquence. 
“ You like society : your life and mine, in consequence, 
is one perpetual ball. You dance in Paris in the win- 
ter, at watering-places in summer, and in the country 
in the autumn. You see no harm in it, which does you 
honor ; but will you believe my experience ? If people 
only went into society for the purpose of dancing, 
nobody would go after he had passed his twenty- 
second year — there would only be balls for students 
and boarding-school misses ; the fashionable world 
would close its doors ; but, unfortunately, it has an- 
other kind of attraction — society is only a commerce 
of gallantry, and that is the true reason for its existence. 
Dancing is most frequently only a pretext and an 
opportunity. That which men always seek, and wo- 
men willingly, is what they call an interest of the 
heart, though the heart generally plays a slight part 
in such matters. It cannot fail to be found — that 
interest — without even looking for it, because it is in 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


105 

the air, because it is fatal, because it is impossible to 
imagine that a man who does not dance, who does not 
play, and who is not a fool, can pass each night three 
or four hours by the clock without experiencing the 
unhealthy temptations of ennui. Thus it might hap- 
pen that, without ceasing to love ypu truly and 
entirely, I might some day find myself in some sort 
unfaithful to you. 

“ As to you, my dear, you are as yet given over to 
the innocent delights of dress, of liveliness and Terp- 
sichore; but there will come a time when these pure 
pleasures will appear stale to you, if they are not re- 
lieved by recreations of a higher class. 

“ In brief, do you wish to know what future is in 
store for us, if we continue to whirl around in the 
fashionable vortex with so much fury ? I can tell you 
in two words. I shall deceive you — you will weep, 
and you will forgive me. You will deceive me — I 
shall not weep, and I will not forgive you !” 

“ I will give up society !” murmured the young 


A MAJijmoi! TN^ nr on irpn 


\o6 

Xvife, drying a couple of tears wrung from her, less by 
the thought of her sacrifice, than by the dryness of 
her husband’s language. 

“ I do not require that. I only ask you to go into 
it with a little more moderation ; and to permit that, in 
my own defence, I leave you more frequently to the 
protection of your mother.” 

“ I will go out no more !” repeated Madame de 
Rias, perfectly overwhelmed. 

“You think so, darling. Whatever you do will be 
right. Good-night ! Pardon me, or rather, pity me, 
for 3^ou know how I hate pineapples !” 

He kissed, and left her. 

He left her, it must be owned, well pleased with 
himself. By a skilful manoeuvre, he had made of his 
fault a grievance, and not only extricated himself from 
a difficult situation without trouble, but advanta- 
geously. In the first place, he had regained, by the 
most honorable pretext, the entire freedom of his 
evenings, but flattered himself that, in the second 


A VA mu AGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


107 


place, he had narrowed, more and more, Madame de 
Rias’s sphere of action, in reducing her to a fixed 
point in the house — that finished and sublime type of 
the pure, domestic wife. 


5 

5 







/: bl5C 




k 






io8 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


CHAPTER VIII. 

^ next day, Madame de Rias dressed herself 

in a toilette of severe simplicity, and remained 
at home all day. She practiced her gamuts on the 
piano, and began a piece of embroidery. In the 
afternoon she received a visit from the Duchess 
d’Estreny, who arrived in even a more languishing 
condition than usual, which was not surprising, as she 
had eaten nothing since the day before. The two 
cousins kissed each other, according to custom, after 
which Madame de Rias took up her work again, and 
applied herself to it with extraordinary industry. The 
duchess regarded her with inquietude. For some 
time the conversation dragged along in common- 
places, then entirely broke down, and the silence was 


A MARRIAGE] IK HIGH LlPK 


109 


broken only by the crackling of the fire and the sighs 
of the duchess. 

“Are you sick?” asked Madame de Rias, dryly, 
without raising her eyes from her embroidery. 

“ Why do you ask me that ?” 

“ Because you sigh continually.” 

Yes — I am suffering a little, and I have a constant 
desire to weep.” 

“ Why do you desire to weep ?” 

“Ah ! you know — always the same thing.” 

“ What thing ?” 

“ I am so unhappy with my husband.” 

“And you hoped to be more happy with mine,” 
said Madame de Rias, brusquely, turning her head 
suddenly, and looking the duchess full in the face. 

Madame d’Estreny, after a few seconds of mute 
confusion, glided down to the feet of her cousin, and, 
half fainting in the amplitude of her skirts, burst into 
tears. 

“What must you think of me?” she murmured. 


I lO 


A MAinUAGh] JN liKUl JJFK. 


“ I think that you are not a good friend. That is 
what I think !” 

“ I assure you that I am — I assure you. It was a 
moment of folly. I have been jealous of you — of 
your happiness — it is true. But I have been so pun- 
ished, so humiliated — I have seen so well that your 
husband did not love me !” 

“You do not expect me to offer you my con- 
dolences for that, I suppose?” 

“ He only loves you — so be content.” 

“That is not your fault, Sabine. Come, get up. I 
have told you what I have in my heart. Let us not 
talk of it any more.” 

“ I have caused you a great deal of unhappiness, 
Marie,” said the duchess, whose tears redoubled. 

“A great deal,” answered Marie, who began to 
soften, and whose tears likewise began to flow. 

“ My poor darling!” 

“ 1 had so much confidence in you,” replied 
Madame de Rias, in a choking voice. 


A MAnnJAtiK IN Hi OH LIFK. 


lit 


“ Ah ! Heavens !” sobbed the duchess. 

The end of this scene was lost in a confusion of 
tears and kisses. 

When M. de Rias came home, toward evening, hq 
found his wife stitching away at her embroidery, with 
an air of zealous pre-occupation. 

“ Heavens ! my dear child,” he cried. “ Can I 
believe my eyes ? What are you doing there ?” 

“ Oh ! I am embroidering a collar for my mother.” 

“ Ah ! it is a collar, is it? for your mother ? Well, 
it is very pretty — you make this thing quite nicely. 
I had no idea you possessed that talent. Why it is 
very far along toward completion. You must have 
worked at it all day.” 

All day.” 

“ What ! not gone out at all 
No.” 

“ Not to the Petit Saint Thomas ?” 

No.” 

“ Nor yet to the Guerre ?” 


A MARRIAGE IN JJKMI LIFE. 


i I 2 


“ No.” 

“ The end of the world must be near then,” said M. 
de Rias, paying his young wife with a kiss, which 
appeared to him delicious. “You must not make a 
nun of yourself, my little darling ; you must take a 
little air during the day. And so you have been all 
alone since this morning ?” 

“ The duchess came,” said Madame de Rias, in a 
careless tone. 

“ Ah ! Indeed. ‘The duchess came,’ — indeed ! and 
- — how did you separate ?” 

“ Oh ! very well. The same as usual.” 

“ Good little woman,” said Lionel, embracing her. 

“ We cried a little together. That is all.” 

“ Ah ! that, of course.” 

Dating from that day, Madame de Rias, without 
restricting herself daily to such rigorous seclusion, 
showed a laudable resolution to modify her habits of 
life. She no longer went out at night, and would 
scarcely appear even in a high-necked dress in the 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


II3 

few quiet parties of the family. To those who were 
astonished at no longer seeing her in society, 

“Well, what would you have?” Madame Fitz- 
Gerald would say, elevating her eyes skyward. “ My 
daughter is quite happy at home ; my son-in-law is 
so amiable, so educated and full of resources.” 

Fruitful in resources as was M. de Rias, it was diffi- 
cult for him to fill the immense leisure which ,he had 
imposed upon his wife. His occupations and his own 
especial amusements did not allow him to appear at 
home save at rare intervals during the day ; in the 
evening he remained in her company after dinner for 
a few moments, listening to one or two waltzes, and 
then went to his library, or to promenade in the town. 
He escorted her sometimes to the theatre. But he 
often abandoned her to her own resources, evidently 
imagining that she had as many as he. The truth is 
that their intimacy, not being sustained by any intel- 
lectual interests in common, was painfully difficult. 

Conversation between them languished into an em- 

8 


J IN HIGH LIFH. 


1 14 

barrassing sterility. With an intelligence which was 
naturally vei*}^ vivacious and frank, Madame de Rias 
was trammelled with that remarkable ignorance of 
everything peculiar to young French women. Of 
matters of art, of literature, of histor\', of politics, she 
possessed only the superficial and confused notions 
with which a Parisienne becomes imbued from day to 
day. It sometimes' happens at last that these crude 
notions get classified and consolidated in the head of 
an intelligent woman, and compose for her, willy-nilly, 
a reasonable basis of instruction and conversation ; 
but in the case of Madame de Rias they were still only 
in the state of vapor, and her startling ignorance, 
whicli had immensely diverted her husband at the 
outset of their love and marriage, no longer amused 
him. One day he came in, full of vexation : 

“ My dear child,” he said to her, rudely, “ do you 
intend to render me ridiculous ?” 

” How so? my dear.” 

” Why, you are telling everybody that I am writing 


A MARRIAGPJ IN HIGH LIFE. 


II5 

A History of French Diplomacy in the Eighth Cen- 
tury.” 

“ Well, I thought so. You told me so.” 

“I never told you such an absurd thing! What 
French diplomacy do you suppose there could have 
been in the Eighth century — before Charlemagne ? — it 
is silly 1 When one confounds the Eighth century 
with the Eighteenth, they inay speak of figures, but 
not of history I” 

“ I ask your pardon, my dear,” said the frightened 
young wife ; ” but at all events, the ridicule, if there is 
any, falls upon me.” 

” It falls on us both, my dear.” 

The little parlor^ of Madame de Rias was more than 
once the theatre of such scenes as this. The symp- 
toms of efinui which she could not always repress 
— ^the yawnings, languors and furtive n^«^rs — irritated 
her husband. 

“It is incredible,” said he, “that women cannot 
please themselves in their own homes. They must 


A MAJi^JiHAG/!; IN HIGH LIFE. 


1 16 

absolutely be in the streets ! Eh! mon Dieu ! How 
do you suppose the honest women of other days got 
along, when what we call high life did not exist ? At 
Rome, for instance, an honest wife did not spend her 
days in 'shopping and her nights in dancing. She 
reared her children and spun tranquilly, and she was 
happy. I don’t ask you to do exactly that. But you 
have a thousand means of occupation. You have 
your children, your household, your flowers, your 
embroidery, your piano, as many books as you please. 
You have your religious duties — and yet you are half 
dead with ennui. It’s very annoying.” 

When he came home in the evening, he often found 
her asleep over her embroidery or a number of a 
magazine. Sometimes he surprised her in a confi- 
dential tete-d>~tete with her mother, and saw that they 
had been cryfng. His pride was wounded — perhaps 
his goodness also. 

“ I do not like,” he said to her one day, “ the airs 
of a victim that you affect and that your mother 


A MAhnUAGK IN IJIGII LIFE. 


T17 

seems to encourage you in. I am not a jailer. If 
you remain at home every evening, grieving and 
lamenting, it is because you choose to do so. You 
know perfectly well that I have authorized you to go 
into society with your mother whenever it suits you. 
Go then ; and I will call for you, from time to time, 
as I return from my club.” 

The young wife, who felt that her heroism had 
come to an end, and upon whom his arguments, bor- 
rowed from Roman history, had made but a feeble 
impression, willingly profited by his permission, and 
was not slow to throw aside her high-necked dresses — 
as a butterfly does its chrysalis. She triumphantly 
re-entered society, as her natural element, and plunged 
into it more and more, with the innocent and thought- 
less ardor of her age. 


A MAnntAOE IN HIGH LIFE. 


Il8 


CHAPTER IX. 

JN order to do justice to all concerned, it is neceS' 
sary to say that M. de Rias was a great deal more 
unhappy than his wife. While she was giddily enjoy- 
ing her youth, her beauty, and her successes, her hus- 
band sadly meditated on the ruins of his last illusions, 
and saw with profound bitterness the misery and vul- 
garity of appearance which his home began to 
assume. 

One evening in January, after having promenaded 
on the boulevard for some time, with only his sombre 
thoughts for company, he mechanically entered a 
theatre, into which the curious public were at the 
moment crowding. They were attracted by the bril- 
liant performances of a young actress named Jeanne 


A MAkRfAG'K J\ HIGH iJPE. tip 

Sylva, who had recently arrived from Russia, with a 
well-merited reputation for beauty and talent. Made- 
moiselle Jeanne Sylva, when she left Paris for St. 
Petersburg, several years before, was but a third-rate 
soubrette. From that simply nebulous state she now 
returned with the rank of a star of the first magnitude, 
and the Parisian public confirmed by its applause the 
legitimacy of this rapid promotion. 

Lionel, who had not yet seen Mademoiselle Sylva, 
but had heard a great deal of talk about her at his 
club, was greatly astonished at recognising in her an 
obscure figurante whom he had formerly met in some 
theatre, but whom he had not otherwise remarked. 
He admired, as everybody did, her brilliant metamor- 
phosis, and thought it his duty to go behind the 
scenes and pay her a compliment between the acts. 

We have sometimes heard it said, in society, that 
the prestige of actresses ended behind the scenes, 
where could be viewed, near at hand, all the horrible 
artifices of which they avail themselves— the Jezebel- 


120 


A M A inn AGE IK lUGH LIFE. 


like painting and ornamentation of their faces. But 
we must deem this an error ; for if their prestige ends 
anywhere — which is possible — it is assuredly not 
behind the scenes. On the contrary, it is there that 
they show themselves in all the strength of their 
singular fascination. The white, the red, the black 
and the blue, of which they make use to put their 
beauty in theatrical perspective, lend them, when off 
the stage, a strange brilliancy, slightly supernatural, 
which makes of them a very seducing sort of phan- 
toms. Then, too, the alchemy with which they paint 
themselves, has another advantage, that of pleasing 
the olfactories, and the atmosphere of perfume which 
they spread about them has a subtle intoxication in 
itself. We cannot, therefore, counsel mothers of 
families to send their sons behind the scenes in order 
to disenchant them with theatrical loves. The result 
of the experiment would, we believe, be the reverse 
of their hopes. 

Lionel found Mademoiselle Sylva in the midst of 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


I2I 


that apotheosis of illumination which the dazzling blaze 
of many gas-lights throws over all behind the scenes. 
She was standing, and, with the grace and smiles of a 
queen, receiving the laudations of a circle of fanatics 
in white cravats. M. de Rias waited for the crowd to 
leave him space to approach in his turn, when he saw 
the gaze of the young actress suddenly fixed upon 
him, and her features assume an extraordinarily serious 
expressioh. For a moment she remained silent and 
motionless ; then, clearing the group which sur- 
rounded her, came to him, and laid the tips of her 
gloved hand upon his arm. 

“ And you here ?” she said to him. 

“You do me the honor to recognise me, made- 
moiselle ?” exclaimed Lionel, overcoming his surprise. 

“ Naturally,” she said, laughing, as if she had re- 
plied to her own thought. 

Then, with her large eyes and painted eyelids 
regarding him seriously and fixedly : 

“You are here!” she continued, with a deep sigh; 


122 


A MAHRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE, 


“ well, one must confess that there are good moments 
in life.” 

After a pause, she added : 

“You comprehend nothing of this, do you, mon- 
sieur ?” 

“ Your pardon, madem.oiselle, but are you not labor- 
ing under some mistake ?” 

“Oh! no, M. de Rias ; no, I assure you!” replied 
Mademoiselle Sylva, with an inflection of infinite sad- 
ness in her voice ; “ but tell me, frankly, how do you 
find me?” 

“ Very beautiful.” 

She made a gesture of impatience. 

“ Yes ; but tell ;T)e, have I talent ?” 

“ Very much. You moved me greatly a little while 
ago. You are a great artist.” 

“ Well,” said she, gayly, “ I repeat it — there are 
good moments in life. Farewell, sir.” 

“But, mademoiselle,” said Lionel. “You cannot 
leave me in this way. Between us there seems to be 


A MAkHlAGh] IN HIGH UrN 


t23 

a mystery, an enigma— I do not know what. May I 
not know the word which will explain it?” 

”Is it necessary?” said Mademoiselle Sylva, lean- 
ing her pretty head on one side. 

” It would be very agreeable to me.” 

“I do not know. You are married, it appears?” 

M. de Rias replied by a light bow of grave acqui- 
escence. 

“Yes,” she said. “You are married — I am an old 
woman — [she was twenty-eight years of age] — we 
can treat then this story of youth as pure childishness, 
and, in reality, it is nothing else. So, sit down there.” 

She made him sit near her, in a retired corner, upon 
a garden bench. 

“ Do you remember having sometimes met behind 
the scenes, some five years ago, an humble little girl 
who then simply called herself Jeanne?” 

“ I remember perfectly.” 

“Imperfectly, would be nearer the* truth, I think ; 
but, no matter — I had then neither beauty nor talent, 


\24 


A MAh\jUA<f;!h' In lire }i iiPhl 


but I had a very tender heart, very ardent and very- 
ambitious. You often came to flirt with my grand 
companions, and you appeared to me a man — how 
shall 1 express it ? — not very handsome, but very 
good-looking, and with superior manners. Thank 
Heaven ! I have a foot thick of white on my cheeks — 
I did not permit myself to love you, but I did permit 
myself to admire you. 1 was nobody — nevertheless, 
it seemed to me that if you would address to me a 
word of kindness and of sympathy, it would give me 
the 'courage of a lioness, and I would become some- 
thing. I tried one evening to attract your attention, 
as you were passing near me to pay homage to my 
greatest comrade — whom I detested cordially; but, 
poor good woman, I pardon her now. I let fall at 
your feet a flower from my bouquet — it was a white 
lilac, if I remember rightly — with the purpose of 
opening a conversation — you understand. You quietly 
put your boot on my lilac, but, remarking my pitiful 
little face, thought you had wounded me, and said to 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


125 


me, ‘ I beg your pardon, little girl !’ — and passed on, 
going to your loves, I — I hid myself in this very 
same corner where we are now, and wept.” 

When Mademoiselle Sylva was at this point of her 
recital, the call-boy came to respectfully warn her 
that she was wanted on the stage. 

“Oh! gracious!” she exclaimed, rising hurriedly; 
“ I forgot.” 

She picked up her skirts hastily, kicked back her 
trail with her heel, composed her face, and, respiring 
the air like a thoroughbred racer starting upon the 
course, ran upon the stage. It was at the end of the 
act, and she had only a short scene, but a very 
dramatic one. Lionel vaguely heard her musical 
voice resound in the midst of a silence so profound 
that one, not seeing, might have imagined the theatre 
empty. Then came a piercing cry — to which the 
audience responded by prolonged applause and a 
frantic recall. After having gone before the curtain 
two or three times, the young artiste, tottering and 


.1 MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


then abandon all the rest to drift away? Should he 
let the passions of his youth slowly re-establish their 
empire over him, to transform him, little by little, in 
the disorders of the libertine-husband and the vices 
of an old man ? 

His wife had gone out that evening, as she almost 
always did. She had gone to a ball with her mother. 
He could not then seek from her his inspiration, but 
he thought of his children, whom he loved, and for 
whose sake his honor was doubly dear to him, and at 
their cradle he resolved to take counsel. 

It was his custom, when Madame de Rias was not 
at home, to pass through her room in order to go to 
that of his children. He crossed her apartment, and 
to his great surprise found that she had come in, and 
had been, probably for a long time, in bed and asleep. 

She slept with one arm under her head. The pale 
and ardent image of the actress, which had followed 
Lionel up to that moment, suddenly disappeared 
before that charming face, pure and calm as a flower. 


A MAJijilA GE IN HIGH LIFE. 


1^9 

He stopped and looked at her ; his heart melted, and 
he felt enter into it a flood of love and confidence. 
No, all was not lost! On her chaste forehead, and in 
that bosom which rose and fell as lightly as that of an 
infant with the gentle respirations of sleep, were the 
innocence and virtue of a child Why then despair? 
What was there between them ? Nothing. A few 
shadows, some misunderstandings, that one word, one 
minute of affection, one impulse of the heart, would 
dissipate for ever. If he should try ? If he should 
say to her, “ Listen to me ! I love you, and you love 
me — we are both honest people — we have our happi- 
ness in our own hands; nevertheless, it escapes us. 
Why ? Let us inquire together, why ? Will you ?” 

As he approached her, she suddenly awoke; her 
look, vaguely astonished at first, at meeting the eyes 
of her husband, immediately took on an expression 
of anxiety and even of alarm ; her eyelids were lightly 
pressed together, and she threw herself back in an 

attitude of timid defiance. 

9 


A AiAnniAi^v: m bioh lipe. 


ip 

M. de Rias became suddenly very pale; a rigid 
coldness iced his features, and, smiling bitterly : 

“ Oh ! fear nothing,” he said. “ I was going to the 
children. I. did not know you had come in ; it is a 
miracle to see you at this hour; and permit me to 
tell you, since the opportunity presents itself, that 
you dissipate a great deal too much ; you are at home 
neither night nor day. It is a little too much.” 

“If you were here oftener yourself,” said the young 
wife, “ you would know that my children occupy me 
every day until three o’clock, and that I never go out 
at night without putting them to bed. My duties 
accomplished, I divert myself as I can : I go into the 
world, as all women of my condition do. It is you 
who make the trouble. I do not. You do not wish 
to accompany me, and you do not desire either, as it 
appears to me, that I should go with my mother. 
What do you wish, then ? That I should be simply a 
piece of furniture in your house ; a piece of furniture 
that feels nothing, that thinks nothing, does no good. 


A IN HIGH LIFE. 


131 


which must be always in its place, inert and immo- 
bile, waiting for your rare presence and good 
pleasure ? If that is what you wish, say so !” 

“ I wish nothing,” said Lionel, in a tone of cold 
disdain. “ Adieu, Marie !” 

And he left the room. 

There had been in his adieu an accent so serious 
and profound that the young wife suddenly compre- 
hended its grave signification. They were separated. 
She made a gesture of despair, half arose and almost 
sprang out of bed to call back, by a cry, him who was 
leaving her, him whom she had so much loved, and 
whom she stdl loved above all. Then, seized with a 
sort of convulsion of grief, she plunged her face into 
her pillows and in them stifled her sobs. 


132 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


CHAPTER X. 
years passed. 

From the commencement of July, Madame de 
Rias had been settled at Deauville for the season, 
with her mother and children. She lived in Rose- 
bush Villa, the garden of which opened on the terrace 
between the Casino and the downs. She was sur- 
rounded by a goodly number of friends from Paris, 
and, in particular, Mesdames de Chelles and d’Es- 
treny. Madame de Chelles, with whom she had 
unfortunately resumed her former relations, was at 
Villers, the duchess at Houlgate. The three cousins 
were very neighborly, and formed the nucleus of a cir- 
cle that did not plume itself on its melancholy. Some 
few of their winter waltzers were spread along the 


A MAMRIAOJ^: IX HIGH LIFE. 


33 


shore, by chance, and contributed, as they thought, to 
the animation of the landscape. They imposed upon 
themselves the task of composing and putting on the 
scene of action, by land and sea, daily some new 
recreation : sailing parties, fishing parties, horseback 
.parties, picnicing under the trees, and returning by 
moonlight. 

Sometimes, in the evening, this brilliant band would 
triumphantly invade some one of the casinos on the 
beach; but more frequently they danced among them- 
selves, or had parlor theatricals in the drawing-room 
of one of the ladies, or sometimes in tamarisk groves, 
decorated with Venetian lanterns. A good deal of 
gallantry was blended with all this amusement ; 
it was a very gay life for everybody, except for 
Madame Fitz-Gerald, who followed it with some 
weariness, and for M. de Rias, who did not follow 
it at all. 

As for him, he made Paris his watering-place, 
according to his custom, and paid rare and short 


134 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


visits to Rosebush Villa, for the edification of the 
public and of his doniestics. 

There had never been between his wife and him the 
shadow of a scene, or of an explanation; what their 
intimacy could have been may be divined. It was 
that miserable state of latent and permanent hostilit}^ 
which prevails in so many households, where one can 
never utter a word without being contradicted by the 
other; where each word is an allusion, a rancorous 
and bitter reproach. 

Madame de Rias saw with pleasure disappear from 
her horizon the sombre and ironical face of her hus- 
band. On the other hand, Madame Fitz Gerald 
brought all her graces to bear — vainly, it is true — to 
keep near her a son-in-law who had not realized all 
her hopes, but for whom she still retained a certain 
weakness, and whose light gallantries she did not take 
too seriously to heart. 

‘‘That which astonishes me in my son-in-law,” she 
said, confidentially, to the Marquise de la Veyle, who 


A MARRIAGR IN JIlOJI LIFE. 


135 


was sojourning at Trouville, “that which astonishes 
me in my son-in-law, is not that he should deceive 
my daughter, but his attitude towards her. Well, let 
him deceive my daughter — (it appears that he has 
broken off with that Sylva — the corps de ballet has 
great attractions for him, it seems.) Very well, then, 
let him deceive rriy daughter — one sees that done 
every day to married women; but what one does not 
see every day is his malicious, wicked, disagreeable 
manner with my daughter. He is still charming for 
me — quite charming ; he is an exceedingly agreeable 
man when he pleases.” 

“ I know it — the beast !” muttered the old marquise. 

“ When with my daughter he does nothing but sulk. 
Not content with playing her false, day and night, he 
sulks. You must admit that such conduct in a man 
as intellectual as my son-in-law is something incom- 
prehensible. What does he want? To drive her to 
extremes ? Let him deceive her as much as he pleases, 
but let him at least be amiable with her — tliat*.-. the 


136 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


first thing; otherwise, my daughter will finish by 
losing her head — for she is surrounded by admirers. 
I have, it is true, the most entire confidence in her 
principles; but, after all, she is not a stone. • I like my 
son-in-law very much, in spite of his undoubted 
faults. I should be wretched if anything happened — 
but he is too light — he is too light !” 

“ He is a fool !” said the marquise ; “ I tell you he 
is a fool ! Don’t talk to me any more about him !” 

The fears which the instinct of the woman and the 
mother awoke in Madame Fitz-Gerald were unfortu- 
nately but too well founded. Madame de Rias had 
arrived at that fatal hour, which, from his own experi- 
ence, her husband had predicted. Little by little she 
wearied of the noisy enjoyments of her first youth. 
Worldly excitement, dress, the dance, the perpet- 
ual holiday of her life, no longer sufficed for her. 
Her imagination and her heart alike craved to add 
to these commonplace pleasures a livelier interest, 
somthing new and more serious. 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


137 


It can readily be understood that there were not 
wanting plenty of people around her ready to second 
such desires. 

It is not rare that the excitements and struggles of 
vanity join with the workings of passion to determine 
the preferences of a woman. In the social groups 
which meet for the purpose of convenience or pleasure, 
there is always some individual to be found who seems 
to usurp, in particular, feminine smiles and coquetries, 
and whose conquests are not only a satisfaction of the 
heart, but a triumph of pride. 

In Madame de Rias’s surroundings, this agreeable 
part was played by the Viscount Roger de Pontis, a 
relative of the Duchess d'Estr^ny. He was one of 
those good-for-nothing fellows whom everybody likes. 
After having squandered his wealth on the turf, at^ 
twenty-five years of age he entered a regiment of 
hussars. He displayed great bravery and rose rap- 
idly to the rank of lieutenant. Then, having unex- 
pectedly inherited a fortune, he retired into civil life. 


138 


J MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


His follies, his courage, his adventures in war and 
love, strongly recommended him to the interest of the 
ladies ; they loved him for these qualities even more 
perhaps than for his vices. Besides, he had the merit 
of disposing of himself for them in every way. He 
would ride a dozen leagues on horseback at night to 
buy a skein of silk, which he afterwards held, sitting at 
their feet, while they unwound it. He sang senti- 
mental songs to them, gave them lessons in horseback- 
riding, led the German, organized charades, got up 
picnics, lunches, fireworks, and gratified all and every 
fancy of which they advised him. He was the same 
to all, ready to please all, nimble and gay as a page, 
supple and burning as a tiger. 

Under this appearance of an amiable fool, Roger 
Viscount de Pontis was a man, and above all an 
amorous man, very skilful, very experienced, and very 
dangerous. 

Much struck with Madame de Rias, he had imme- 
diately, with one glance, judged what sort of woman 


A MARjUAGE IK HIGH LIFE. 


39 


she was, and had perfectly well understood that so 
new and strong a place could not be carried by one 
blow from a hussar. He proceeded by adroit 
manoeuvring. 

He first surprised her by taking very little notice 
of her, while directing a. spirited attack against her 
two cousins. Madame de Rias, who was, and knew 
she was, the flower of the flock, conceived a spite 
against him, and affected to return contempt for con- 
tempt. 

It was the first success for which M. de Pontis could 
score himself a good point. He thus explained him- 
self to her ; his coldness was respect ; no one paid 
court to a woman like her. Why? Because men 
felt her to be above vulgar attentions ; and besides — 
might he say it ? — she frightened him. It was 
strange, but it was so. A woman like her could only 
inspire a serious and durable attachment, a lasting 
love, and M. de Pontis had always feared a passion of 
that kind gaining upon him, precisely because he 


140 


A MAJiBIAGF IN HIGH LIFE. 


knew the terrible empire it would take upon his life. 
He was wrong, perhaps, for such a sentiment would 
be, without any doubt, the end of that foolish career 
for which he already blushed ; it would be his restora- 
tion and his safety — but he was afraid of it. 

On this text there are a great many pretty things 
to say, and he said them. 

The idea of losing herself to save the hussar at first 
appeared singular to Madame de Rias. She was 
nevertheless flattered at having been chosen before all 
others to effect such a miracle, and, while very pro- 
perly resisting his advances in a capable manner, she 
insensibly permitted her young heart to dwell upon 
this seductive chimera. 

In brief, this intrigue, skilfully followed up, seemed 
approaching a serious point, when the appearance of 
a new personage on the scene threw momentary 
trouble into the viscount’s play. 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


I41 


CHAPTER XI. 

'' "'OWARDS the end of July, Madame de Lorris, 
whose husband had ^one to sea some months 
previously, joined the Marquise de la Veyle at TroU' 
ville. 

She was accompanied by her brother, Henry de 
Kevern, whose name has already been mentioned in 
these pages, but whom we now present for the first 
time to the reader. 

M. de Kevern was a man of cold and severe bear- 
ing, but possessing a heart capable of loving pro- 
foundly. He still, in the depths of that heart, wore 
mourning for his young wife, a charming woman — 
whom he had lost a dozen years before. His despair 
at this sorrow was so great that his sister feared he 


142 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


would do something terrible ; but he began to travel, 
taking long voyages, the interest and perils of which 
somewhat assuaged his sorrow, but never consoled 
him. Through all, he had preserved the melancholy 
which caused him to withdraw from the world. 
When he returned to France he lived principally in 
the country, and saw few besides his sister, who, 
prompted by her affection, was constantly devis- 
ing ingenious means of winning him from his 
retiracy. Such extraordinary conjugal fidelity had 
passed into a proverb in high Parisian society, 
in which M. de Kevern was considered a hero by 
the women, and by the men as one who strains after 
effect. 

The day after her arrival, Madame de Lorris ran to 
Madame de Rias, with whom she had always been 
united in a firm friendship, even though in her youth- 
ful wisdom she blamed a manner of life which 
Madame de Rias excused by pleading her husband’s 
neglect and her domestic misery. After the first 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


143 


warm greetings, and as they mutually related their 
news : 

“ By-the-by, dear,” said Madame de Rias, “ there is 
a gentleman in love with me.” 

“ Only one ?” inquired Madame de Lorris. 

Madame de Rias blushed slightly. 

“ Oh, as to that,” she replied, “ lovers are rank 
weeds which flourish at the seaside-; but this is a 
new one. He puzzles me, because his face is not un- 
known to me ; but I cannot remember where I have 
seen him — perhaps in a dream. He is very ridiculous, 
this gentleman ; for three days he has followed me 
everywhere, on foot and on horseback ; he passes and 
repasses the house. Yesterday I was at Trouville, 
where I saw his nose flattened against every window 
X)f every shop I entered. This morning he waited for 
me to come out of church. I assure you he bores 
me.” 

“ What sort of a looking man is he ?” 

“ A man very well dressed— a well-bred air — but a 


144 


^ A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


little pre-occupied — I don’t know how exactly. What 
would you advise me to do, if he continues ?” 

“ I advise you to pay no attention to him. But are 
you sure that it is you whom he is following ?” 

“Child!” exclaimed Madame de Rias, shrugging 
her shoulders. “ Ah I” she added immediately, “ look 1 
there he is 1” 

They were seated at the end of the parlor, in a sort 
of semi-circle, which commanded a view of the ter- 
race, and some of the panes were open. 

Madame de Lorris glanced at the mysterious un- 
known, whom Madame de Rias pointed out by an 
inclination of the head, and began to laugh. 

“ Is that your admirer ?” she asked. “ Well, dear, 
I hope you may never have a more formidable one.” 

“ Do you know him ?” Madame de Rias inquired 
eagerly. 

With©ut replying, Madame de Lorris leaned a little 
out of the window, and waving her handkerchief 
called, 


A MABniAGE IN HIGH LIFE 


145 


Henry!” 

“ M. de Kevern !” cried Madame de Rias. 

Himself, my dear. He came a little before I did. 
I always counted on introducing him to you some 
day ; now the opportunity presents itself As to his 
ardor in following and looking at you, he is entirely 
innocent, poor man 1 I can explain it in one word. 
You resemble his wife.” 

M. de Kevern responded to his sister’s call with 
more submission than enthusiam ; he quietly opened 
the little gate of the garden surrounding the house, 
and slowly mounted the outside stairs leading to the 
parlor. 

The two young ladies met him on the stoop. 

“ My brother!” said Madame de Lords, my cousin 
de Rias !” 

Madame de Rias, who had seen M. de Kevern be- 
fore, hardly remembered him, but knew his history by 
heart, did not find him the sentimental and dolorous 

tenor that she had pictured to herself Small, quick 

10 


146 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


and robust, with sunburnt skin and black hair getting 
gray on the temples, he looked like an officer of the 
chasseurs ci pied in civilian’s dress. 

The look which he fastened upon her with evident 
curiosity was firm and almost hard. He seated him- 
self for a few minutes. He questioned in a brusque 
voice about her children, tastes, pleasures ; received 
her answers with a cold and absent air, and went as 
he had come, leaving her only moderately pleased 
with his visit and his person. 

“And. you say that I resemble his poor wife?” she 
asked Madame de Lorris, when he had gone. 

“ A great deal. I have been often struck with the 
likeness, and I am sure that he noticed it.” 

“You really think that he noticed it?” 

“ He told me so.” 

“ One would think that he feels unpleasantly towards 
me on account of it ; it is not, however, my fault. 

“What makes you think that? He don’t please 
you, then ?” 


j m HIGH Lmi 


H7 

“ Why do you think that he does not please me ? 
He is a shade too dark for my style of beauty ; but 
he is your brother, and, of course, I like him. Do 
you wish me to love him ?” 

“ No, not that ; but be agreeable to him, I beg of 
you. I so much want to save him from himself He 
is so unhappy, so good, and I owe him so much. 
You know he brought me up.” 

“ And made you the little treasure that you are !” 
interrupted Madame de Rias, kissing her cousin. 
“Well, never fear, darling; we will cheer him up, we 
will cheer him up — it will not be an easy task, but we 
will buckle to it.” 

Madame de Lorris, who was always thinking how 
to lure her brother from his solitude, had employed 
her most tender eloquence to induce him to accom- 
pany her to Trouville. 

She relied on the familiarity of habits and the 
facility of relations which characterize seaside resorts, 
to gradually lead him into the world again. The 


148 


A MAMJaAGS IN HIGH LIFE. 


Strange resemblance with which nature had endowed 
her cousin de Rias, and the especial attraction this 
likeness would offer to her brother, certainly had not 
entered into her calculations; but she saw in it a 
chance of success, of which she availed herself with- 
out any scruple ; for this wise young woman was, 
however, but a woman, and her love for her brother, 
which was almost the only passion of her heart, 
blinded her to the fact that it was a little equivocal to 
make use of, even to forward the most honest scheme, 
so delicate a circumstance. 

Madame de Rias, on her side, only half understood 
the part assigned to her by the diplomacy of Madame 
de Lords, and accepted it with good grace, mingling 
with it a strong dose of curiosity, and perhaps a little 
malice. 

This innocent plot did not meet with all the resist- 
ance from M. de Kevern which had been feared. His 
sister, during the long absences of her husband, was 
condenined to an existence, very retired and almost 


A MABBIAG£; IN HlOB LIFE. 


149 


austere for her age; he was her only protector; he 
alone could give her a little liberty and enjoyment by 
accompanying her into society from time to time. 

He often reproached himself with not having the 
courage to go. Perhaps, unknown to himself, he took 
a melancholy interest in Madame de Rias. However 
that may be, he consented to dine with her the next 
day. She invited him and his sister in the evening to 
a picnic the day after, and he consented again, so that 
she was not 'slow to believe that M. de Kevern was 
an overrated man, and that he fell below his reputa- 
tion. 

“ His innocence began to weigh upon him at 
last !” she laughingly said to her cousin, Madame de 
Chelles, in a classical line, caught up at the Theatre- 
FranQais. 

After the picnic, at which M. de Kevern had dis- 
played encouragingly good temper, they had a little 
dance at Madame de Rias’s. 

She thought it would be pleasant to make this in- 


A MARRIAGE IE HIGH LIFE. 


150 

consolable widower dance, and, skipping up to him 
suddenly, she tried to carry him off for a waltz. 

M. de Kevern refused her with a very dry “ No,” 
strengthened by an icy look. Little accustomed to 
such sort of checks, the young woman spitefully made 
him a profound courtesy, and hid her confusion in the 
arms of Viscount Roger, who desired nothing better. 
The waltz over, she lighted a cigarette, as if for 
bravado. M. de Kevern approached her, and bow- 
ing with a smile which gave to his grave face a sweet 
charm, 

I ask your pardon,” he said ; “ you found me very 
sulky a little while ago, did you not ?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Come, madame,” he said kindly, “ let us under- 
stand each other. Out of good-will for my sister, and 
for the pleasure of meeting you, I decided to reap- 
pear in society. I try not to be a death’s-head in it. 
I do not wish to display my sorrows — but you know 
them ; why do you not respect them ? Do you wish 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


151 

to render me ridiculous ? It is not well — it is not 
the part of a friend — and I hoped that you would be 
a friend to me !” 

There was in these simple words a tone of frank- 
ness and of confidence which touched Madame de 
Rias, who had a foolish, but in nowise bad heart. 

She held out her hand to M. de Kevern, and said 
to him with affectionate gayety: 

“ Let me be a second sister, then.” 

“ I pray you to be so !” said Kevern. 

After a pause and a puff of her cigarette, she replied 
with a serious air : 

“ It is certain that I have need enough of a 
brother.” 

M. de Kevern bowed, without reply. 

“ You think so. Is it not true ?” 

You say so,” he answered. 

“ When you are not content with me, you will 
scold me, will you not ?” 


Certainly — immediately, if you wish.’ 


T52 


A IfAI^mAGU IN HIGH LIFE. 


“ Well.” 

“ Well,” said he, smiling, do not smoke!” 

A roseate tint flushed over the charming features of 
the young woman ; she let her cigarette drop. 

“ It is agreed,” she said, seating herself at the piano. 

For a few days following the above conversation, 
Madame de Rias went through the farce of submit- 
ting her acts and gestures to the control and apprecia- 
tion of M. de Kevern. She interrogated him upon 
her dress : Was it too “ loud ?” On her manner of 
waltzing: Was it right? On certain expressions that 
she used : Were they not too fast,” or too familiar ? 
Did he approve of her yellow boots ? Should she 
carry a cane? M. de Kevern lent himself to this 
childishness with a sort of calm and slightly disdain- 
ful irony ;• but she saw that he blamed all that she 
said and did in general and in particular. 

“ Decidedly, my dear,” she said, to Madame de 
Lorris, one day, your brother is a bore.” 

Nevertheless, the “ bore ” interested and impressed 


A MAHRIAOE IN HlGB LIFE. 153 

her. The strong individuality of M. de Kevern, his 
superior intellect, the romantic tinge in his life, the 
authority of his character, at once energetic and 
gentle, inspired her with respect and admiration. 

Perhaps it only depended on himself to take the 
place in the young woman’s heart which had been 
usurped by the Viscount de Pontis; but as to that, M. 
de Kevern did not even think of it. He limited him- 
self scrupulously to the fraternal part which Madame 
de Rias had attributed to him, and when his young 
friend, carried away by her coquettish habits, tried to 
enliven a little their calm relations, he resorted to 
severities of look and language, which pitilessly re- 
pressed these irregular manoeuvres. 

Women, unfortunately, do not greatly love those 
who only love them by halves, and Madame de Rias, 
in the crisis through which she was then passing, 
eager for some interest and feeling in her life, was less 
disposed than any other woman to taste the simple 
sweets of mutual sympathy. 


154 


A MAUniAGK IN HIGH LIFN. 


The burning viscount, excited by the struggle, at 
the same time redoubled his skill, his rapture and his 
audacity. He risked writing to her, and she received 
his letters. 

The lookers-on saw that the frequent asides, the 
flashings of their eyes, supplicating glances from one 
party, and softening ones on the other, announced the 
near and fatal climax of the adventure. 

These precursory symptoms might have escaped M. 
de Kevern, if Madame de Rias had not evinced a 
strange desire to make him a witness of them. In the 
heart of woman there are mysteries so unfathomable 
that we cannot undertake to divine why Madame de 
Rias, so eager in general to please M. de Kevern, 
forced him to submit to tests which could not but be 
disagreeable to him. She did better still. One fine 
evening in August, as they were returning on horse- 
back from a farm that M. de Chelles owned in the 
environs of Caen, where they had dined gayly, she 
suddenly left the company of the Viscount Roger, in 


A MABJ^IAGB IN HIGH LIFE. 


55 


order to join Kevern, who was riding a little apart, 
and, profiting by the shades of night, she indulged in 
this singular language : 

“ I have something to say to you, sir.” 

“ Well, madame.” 

“ Your friendship is very precious to me — nothing 
can be more so.” 

“ I am very happy to hear it.” 

“ But do you believe that a friendship, how- 
soever precious it may be, can fill the heart of a 
woman ?” 

I have not the pretension to think so.” 

“ Well, if some day a stranger sentiment should 
take possession of me, if I should sacrifice duty to it, 
as they have tried to make me do — as you know — 
might I always count on your friendship ?” 

“ No !” Kevern coldly replied. 

“ What ! no ? Would it not be in my misfortune — 
in my fault, if you will, more useful, more helpful 
than ever?” 


156 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


“ It is possible, but the part of confidant in a love 
affair does not suit me.’’ 

At least, if it should happen — you would not feel 
hard against me ?” 

I would feel very hard.” 

“ Because you would be jealous ?” 

I should not be jealous, for I have no love for 
you, and never can have. The memory of my wife, 
whom you resemble, protects me against you ; but I 
should feel very hard towards you, if you should put 
a blemish on that memory. Do you understand ?” 

' “ No,” she answered, “ It is too deep for me.” 

She whipped up her horse, and went to take her 
place in the principal group, where he heard shouting, 
with laughter. 

Supper was awaiting them on their return, in the 
cottage that Madame de Chelles occupied on the 
beach at Villers. Of course they danced afterwards 
until daylight. 

M- dc Kcvern desired that his sister should be 


A MABHIAGJiJ m HIGH LIFE. 


157 


amused, but not at that point, and so he refused 
to stop at Villers, and with her continued on the 
road to Trouville. They had brought Madame de 
Rias, whose mother had gone to pass a few days in 
Paris. It was natural that she should return in their 
company, and they would leave her at her house ; but 
she would not go so early, and it was agreed that she 
should be taken back later by her cousin de Chelles, 
who never went to bed until the last extremity. 

After some minutes of a silent ride in the charm of 
a midsummer night, 

“ Louise,” said M. de Kevern, brusquely, “ that poor 
child is lost!” 

Oh, my friend !” cried Madame de Lorris, dole- 
fully.' 

Perfectly lost ! It is very provoking I Her hus- 
band is neither a fool nor a knave. What is he think- 
ing of?” 


158 


A MARUIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


CHAPTER XII. 

JT was about eleven o’clock in the evening, when 
Madame de Lorris entered the embowered cottage 
in which she dwelt with her brother on the quais de 
Trouville, Almost immediately after, to her great 
surprise, M. de Rias was announced as being at the 
door and desirous of speaking with her. She con- 
sulted her brother by a glance. 

“ Certainly,” said he, receive him and he left 
the room. 

M. de Rias presented himself with a very cheerful 
air, or at least he endeavored to wear that appear- 
ance. 

“I am committing a great breach of etiquette,” he 
said, “ and I beg of you to excuse it ; but I know that 


A MAkRIAGE iRf HIGH LIFE. 


159 


my wife left home with you this morning, and I have 
taken the liberty of coming to learn if I shall have 
the pleasure of seeing her again.” 

“ Very probably,” said Madame de Lords ; “ but, sit 
down.” 

“ No, I cannot sit ; have the kindness to tell me 
simply where my wife is, and I will go.” 

“ She is at Villers, with the de Chelles, who will 
bring her back to you themselves in a short time.” 

” But why did she not come back with you ?” 

” I was a little tired, and did not wish to take her 
away from her friends so soon. But when did you 
arrive ?” 

‘‘At five o’clock. I came by the husbands’ train, 
of course. They told me on my. arrival that my 
mother-in-law was in Paris, with my children, and 
they did not know where my wife was ; upon which I 

made a very agreeable dinner, and here I am. I 

hope that I look ridiculous enough. Good-night, 
dear madame.” 


A MARRIAGE Ih HIGH LIRE, 


l6o 

“ Good-night ! It she should be a little late in re- 
turning do not be uneasy.” 

No ! no ! Good-night !” 

He was going, when the young woman called him 
back, softly touching his arm with the end of her 
riding- whip : 

“ M. de Rias ?” 

“ Madame ?” 

“You do not look well! Are you suffer- 
ing?” 

“ Not at all, thank you.” 

“You will not scold Marie too much, when she 
comes back.” 

He looked at ‘her, as if astonished, without reply- 
ing. She continued, 

“ You must ren\embef that she is a little neglected.” 

He still looked at her fixedly, and, after a moment’s 
pause, said : 

“Then you condemn me — you also!’* 

“ I love Marie a great deal.” 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. i6i 

“ And I have also greatly loved her,” said Lionel, 
in a solemn voice. 

“ And now ?” asked Madame de Lords, 

‘‘Now, madame — it is very different.” 

Then, with a sudden burst of feeling, 

“ She is neglected, you say. It is true ; but what 
man of sense and honor could associate himself with 
a life like hers ?” 

“ Excuse me,” said she, with the same sweetness as 
before, “ but is yours any better ?” 

“ Mine ! Great Heavens ! was it not she herself 
who drove me into it ?” 

“ Can she not say the same on her side ?” 

“ Oh ! without doubt,” replied Lionel, with bitter- 
ness, “ she has given you her reasons. If, however, 
there is a person in the world who should be just to 
me, it is yourself, for I am very unhappy — yes, un- 
happy in the highest degree — and in truth you your- 
self are the cause.” 

“I!” 

11 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


162 


“ You, yourself! I entreat you not to see in my 
words an intention of gallantry which would be out of 
place at this moment, but deign to recall that evening 
which decided my fate, that evening when my poor 
god-mother combatted my too-well-founded objec- 
tions to matrimony. It was not her eloquence which 
triumphed, I assure you. It was'you alone. It was 
your presence, your example ; I looked at you and I 
said to myself : ‘ Well, yes, there are wives like that 
after all. Happiness is possible 1’ ” 

“ M. de Rias,” said Madame de Lords, spare me, 
I beg of you, and permit me to tell you that I have 
been acquainted with your wife for a long time ; that 
she is greatly superior to me in every particular, and 
that , she was, also, at least as worthy as myself to 
make the happiness of an honest man.” 

“ Be it so,” coldly replied Lionel. “ It is I, then, 
who have ruined her. Adieu, madame I” 

M. de Rias crossed the bridge which unites the 
rival territories of Trouville and Deauville, and walked 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


163 


along the seashore road to Rosebush Villa. He 
reached it a few minutes after midnight. Madame de 
Rias had not yet returned. He went in and tried to 
read ; soon he gave that up, and commenced to pace 
his room in an excited promenade, unhappily destined 
to be a long one. 

As the time rolled by in* this vain watch, all his 
griefs, all his resentment against his wife — exasperated 
by the painful events of this evening — mounted to his 
brain in waves of choler ; for, let it be said in his praise, 
Lionel de Rias had not, as many others would have 
done, taken a part in the disorder of his household. 
He was one of those for whom marriage, when it has 
ceased to be a charm, becomes an agony: The wo- 
man upon whom he had reposed his hopes of happi- 
ness, and who bore his name, could become odious to 
him, but never indifferent. He did not pardon her 
for having destroyed the ideal, a little vague, perhaps, 
but, after all, honest and sincere, that he had formed 
to himself of marriage. He said to himself, not with- 


164 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


out some appearance of reason, that he had been for 
her such a husband as one sees very seldom — tender, 
generous, delicate, and even faithful, up to the time 
when she herself had broken, with her own hand, the 
conjugal tie. From that time she was happy. Her 
giddinesses, her frivolit)^, her vanity, obtained full sway 
over her, and sufficed for her. As for him, his life 
was a failure. He no longer found in the distractions 
and giddiness of youth aught but vacuity, ennui and 
disgust. He was the most unhappy of beings, dis- 
couraged and disenchanted with everything — his fire- 
side and his work; without aim, without ambition, 
without dignity, and perhaps soon to be — thanks to 
her — without honor. And it was her whom they 
pitied, him whom they accused. The thought that 
the honest and kind Madame de Lorris was one of 
his accusers, did not contribute to calm his irritation. 

The first rays of dawn surprised him in these bitter 
reflections. It was toward the end of the month of 
August. Almost five o’clock in the morning, and 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


165 


still Madame de Rias had not returned! To pass an 
entire night out of the house, without her mother and 
without her husband, in company with fast young 
men, and under the sole shield of Madame de Chelles, 
was assuredly a very serious escapade. Lionel felt 
that his patience was exhausted ; he descended to the 
stables, saddled a horse, and mounting, took the road 
to Villers. 

The road from Deauville to Villers, as most of our 
readers know, after having followed for some time the 
straight line between the plains and the drives, winds 
up the side of a rocky cliff which overlooks the ocean. 
The acclivity is long and steep. M. de Rias was 
mounting this inclined plane, with his horse at a walk, 
when a noise of voices and laughter came floating to 
him from the distance, and struck his ears clearly in 
the silence of the early morning. After an instant 
this noise ceased, and other sounds succeeded to it. 
The earth resounded under a heavy and rapid tread, as 
if a band of runaway horses were mounting at a 


1 66 -A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 

gallop the other side of the cliff. Suddenly the sum- 
mit on that side was reached by the cavalcade, and 
Lionel saw, outlined upon the azure of the still pale 
sky, the silhouettes of cavaliers and ladies on horse- 
back. He immediately comprehended that his lost 
wife must be one of the ornaments of that society. 

The cavalcade, having reached the plateau, moved 
slowly and descended toward him. The joyous 
voices, cries and laughter were heard with redoubled 
force — then suddenly sank to a vague murmur, and 
this in turn died away in a dull silence. It would 
seem that they had perceived, in the light of the dawn 
and in the centre of the white road, the figure of the 
solitary horseman, vidette-like, in their path. They 
had even probably recognised him. 

M. de Rias continued to advance with a tranquil 
mien until within a few paces of the brilliant squadron. 
Then he stopped, and, without permitting any sign of 
emotion to appear, f ’4ier than extreme pallor, saluted 
them. 


A MAJiBIAGB IN HIGH LIFE. 


67 


** I ask your pardon,” he said, addressing his wife, 
in a voice calm and low, “ but I was a little uneasy, 
and have come to seek you.” 

“ You see,” said Madame de Chelles, “that she is in 
good company.” 

” Excellent,” replied Lionel; “and I am very grate- 
ful to you. Are you coming, my dear ?” 

He bowed again, turned bridle, and at the side of 
his wife took the direction of Deauville; while Ma- 
dame de Chelles and her cortege returned to Villers. 

After a moment of painful silence between the pair, 

“ When did you arrive ?” asked Madame de Rias. 

“ Yesterday evening.” 

“Ah !” 

There was a long pause ; then she spoke : 

“ Did you see my mother in Paris ?” 

“ No, she will be back in two days.” 

“ You know that she has taken the children with 
her?” she inquired. 

“ I know.” 


68 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


They were then at the foot of the hill, and a gallop 
put an end to the languishing conversation. A few 
minutes later they entered the court-yard of the villa. 
Without exchanging a word, they mounted the stair- 
case which led to their respective apartments. 

At that moment, when Madame de Rias opened the 
door of her chamber and was about to close it behind 
her, 

“ Excuse me,” said Lionel, and followed her in. 

Hardly was the door shut and the young wife, 
hesitating and uneasy, stood before him, her long rid- 
ing habit thrown over her arm — 

“ Well,” said he, fixing upon her a look full of 
anger, “you lead the life of a common woman de- 
cidedly.” 

Madame de Rias became as white as bleached wax. 
She appeared to totter, let fall her train to the floor, and 
leaned heavily upon the first piece of furniture which 
her hand reached — then, immediately recovering her 
self-possession, and braving the look of her husband : 


A MABBIAGB IN HIGH LIFE. 


169 


“ I thought,” she said, that the way to please you 
was to resemble those women.” 

“ You see that it is not so,” replied Lionel, in a 
hard tone. “ Ah !” continued he, with growing excite- 
ment, “ you complain that you are neglected, that 
you are, for your husband, only the mistress of a 
day. Very well ; it is the truth ; you are nothing else. 
And do you know why ? It is because you resemble 
those women ; because we seek in our wives the oppo- 
site of those women ; because that which pleases us in 
them we view with horror in you ; because we demand 
of you that you differ from and not resemble them ; 
that you make us forget, not remind us of them. 
And you do not even resemble them — you are only 
pale and badly-painted copies of them. You imitate 
their dresses, adopt their manners, ape their tone and 
language; you have all their weaknesses, their wild 
dissipation, their ignorance; you have, like them, a 
contempt for duty and a dread and fear of children; 
but, believe me, that is not enough ; you are always 


A MAJSBIAGi; IN HIGH LIFE. 


170 

vanquished in this miserable struggle; you lose your 
own charm and you never attain theirs ; you are no 
longer honest women ; and you are not even cour- 
tesans ; you are wives without virtue and mistresses ^ 
without vice. You are nothing !” 

To this merciless tirade, Madame de Rias, whether 
in her own heart she owned its cruel truth, or dis- 
dained its cruel injustice, did not reply. She pushed 
back her dress with her foot and advanced toward the 
bell-rope. 

“ Permit me,” said she, “ to call my maid. I am a 
little tired.” 

Lionel immediately went out, bearing against his 
wife a new grievance, that of having provoked in him 
a violence of language contrary alike to dignity and 
good taste. 

Two or three hours later, a carriage waited in the 
court-yard to take him to the depot. Tn the vestibule 
he met the maid of Madame de Rias. 

Madame is still sleeping, doubtless,” he said to her, 


A MAliJilAGE m HIOH LIF£. 




“Yes, sir. Madame is asleep,’’ replied the girl, 
dryly. 

“ I will not awake her. I have already informed 
her that I am forced to leave for Paris to-day.” 

And he took his departure. 



72 


A MARRIAGE IK HIGH LIFE. 



CHAPTER XIII. 

JN the afternoon of that same day, Madame de 
Lorris came to her cousin to obtain some informa- 
tion of the events which had transpired. Struck 
with the alteration in the features of Madame de Rias, 
and with her feverish excitement, she pressed her 
with questions, and received a detailed recital of the 
conjugal scene to which she had been subjected in the 
morning. She was in such a violent condition of 
excitement that Madame de Lorris deferred the re- 
proaches that the giddiness of her conduct seemed 
to merit, and restricted herself to overwhelming her 
with affectionate caresses. She was astonished at 
receiving a sort of resistance. 

“ Do not kiss me so much, Louisettc,” said Ma- 


A MAREIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


173 


dame de Rias to her, smiling bitterly, “ you will per- 
haps repent it, by and by.” 

^‘Why so ?” 

** I will tell you.” 

She arose, with an abrupt movement, took a letter 
from her blotting-case, and throwing it open, upon 
her cousin’s knees, said ; 

There, read that!” 

Madame de Lorris ran her eyes over it in haste. 
It was from the Viscount de Pontis, and contained, 
with expressions of burning and pressing passion, a 
solicitation for an interview that night, for which the 
absence of Madame Fitz-Gerald afforded an oppor- 
tunity which might never occur again. M. de Pontis 
supplicated Madame de Rias not to drive him to 
despair by refusing to grant him a few moments of 
private conversation in the garden of her villa. He 
would be at the garden gate between eleven o’clock 
and midnight, and would there await life or death. 

“ How can you expose yourself to the receipt of 


174 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


a letter like that ?” said Madame de Lorris, severely. 
“ I hope, at least, that you have replied to it as you 
should.” 

“ You are right,” replied Madame de Rias, with a 
strange smile ; “ yesterday I replied to that letter as I 
should, because yesterday I was an honest wife ; but 
to-day I am a ‘ common woman,’ and I am going to 
reply to it in that character !” 

She seized a pencil and rapidly traced, under 
the signature of the viscount, a single word — 
“Yes” — placed the letter beneath the eyes of 
Madame de Lorris, sealed, and addressed it and 
rang. 

Madame de Lorris regarded her with an air of 
stupor. 

“ Marie !” she cried, “ I pray you ” 

A servant entered. 

“Jean,” said Madame de Rias, “you must go imme- 
diately, on horseback, and carry this letter to Houl- 
gate, to its address.” 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


175 


Then going quickly to Madame de Lorris, the mo- 
ment that the servant had retired : 

“ Do not waste your words,” she said. Say noth- 
ing to me — not a word. Leave me. Go back to your 
home. Leave me to weep !” 

You drive me away, Marie ?” 

Yes, I drive you away. Go !” 

^^My poor child!” said Madame de Lorris, fixing 
upon her a look of sweetness and profound pity, “ I 
shall love you always — you know that. Calm your- 
self — you are too much excited in this moment to 
listen to me — so be it ; I will come back again.” 

She kissed her hands and quitted her. 

Toward six o’clock, after having made several visits, 
she returned. They told her that Madame de Rias 
was gone out — that she would not dine at home. By 
the embarrassed manner of the servant, she under- 
stood that her cousin had given orders that she would 
not receive her. 

As she was re-entering her carriage, with an almost 


;6 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


broken heart, a little note was given to her, from 
Madame de Rias. She opened it anxiously, and there 
read simply this half line : 

Say nothing to your brother.” 

The thought that this note immediately suggested 
to Madame de Lorris was precisely to tell all to her bro- 
ther. She had need of counsel. Her mother-in-law, 
Madame de la Veyle, had returned to Paris several 
days before, and the situation was too urgent to per- 
mit the delay of an appeal to her. On the other hand, 
the singular pre-occupation which had dictated the 
note from Madame de Rias attested that M. de 
Kevern had obtained over her a certain influence, 
through which it might not, perhaps, be impossible to 
draw her from the verge of this abyss. Madame de 
Lorris ran to her brother’s room, threw herself on her 
knees before him with the grace of a child, and 
recounted to him, in a low and animated voice, the 
sad incidents of her visit to her cousin de Rias. She 
terminated her recital by showing to him the note 


A MARRIAGIC IN HIGH LIFE. 


l?7 

which she had just received; then, with all the elo- 
quence of her large tearful eyes, implored him to save 
from shame the dearest friend of her youth. 

M. de Kevern had listened to her without permit- 
ting the least expression to appear upon his serious 
face. When she had finished, 

My dear little one,” he said to her, with kindness^ 
“ I understand your grief, and I too am unhappy 
about it, but what do you wish me to do ? I am 
almost a stranger to the young woman. How can 
you wish me to enlist in a struggle against a husband 
and a lover who are in such perfect accord to push 
her into the abyss ? It would not be possible ! 
Because, my intervention would not be proper — and, 
finally, I cannot force her door.” 

'^If you would write to her,” timidly suggested 
Madame de Lorris. 

'' What the deuce do you wish me to write to her ?” 
Whatever you think !” 

M. de Kevern thought a moment, with a wearied 

12 


178 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


air, then drawing his work-table to him, he wrote the 
following laconic note : 

“You will be very unhappy to-morrow. 

Kevern.” 

“ Send that to her, if you will, my dear,” he said ; 
“ but I warn you that it is absolutely useless. If you 
would only reflect that it is going to a woman pos- 
sessed at the same time by the passion of vengeancOj 
and that of love, you would comprehend that it is but 
a drop of water thrown on a great fire.” 

“ I will ask for a reply.” 

“You can do so,” said M. de Kevern, with calm 
irony. 

An hour afterward, as they were finishing dinner, 
the servant who had taken the note was introduced 
into the dining-room ; — Madame de Rias had said 
that it was all right — that there was no answer. 

M. de Kevern took Madame de Lords out upon the 
beach. He felt that she trembled and shuddered on 
his arm. 


jL marriage in high life. 


79 


“ You are very much distressed, my poor Louise,'’ 
he said to her. 

“ Yes, a great deal ; and then the evening seems 
cold. One would think the autumn was already 
here. 

“ Very well, then, do you know what we must do ? 
We must go back, light the fire and give ourselves 
the pleasant illusion of a sweet winter-evening at the 
corner of a peaceful fireside. It is something, when 
one is suffering, to at least have smiling surround- 
ings.” 

They went in and were soon seated in the little 
parlor of the cottage, to which the flame and crack- 
ling of the fire lent an air of gayety and homelike 
comfort. Madame de Lorris had taken up her faith- 
ful embroidery and her brother, sitting before her, 
read to her an article from the Revue. At first she 
appeared to listen with attention, but as the evening 
advanced she became absent-minded ; her eyes wan- 
dered every instant from her needle to the clock, and 


i8o 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


her features betrayed the agony that was in her heart. 
Eleven o’clock had just sounded, when M. de Kevern 
saw tears escape from the eyes of the young woman, 
and fall, drop by drop, upon her embroidery. He 
interrupted his reading and took her hands. 

Come ! my darling, what is the matter ? Come!” 

“ I cannot help it,” she murmured ; “ she told me 
to weep for her — and I weep!” 

And she sobbed aloud. 

Suddenly she raised her head and quickly dried 
her eyes. A carriage was heard stopping before the 
entrance to the cottage. A few seconds later, some 
one mounted the stairs. She arose precipitately and 
ran to the door of the parlor, which she opened. She 
heard the rustling of silk, and an instant after saw the 
"face of Madame de Rias, beautiful and pale, emerging 
from the darkness. Uttering a cry, “ Marie ! Ah ! 
mon Dieu,"' she seized her, embraced her and stifled 
her with kisses. 

Much moved and trembling, Madame de Rias drew 


A MA RBTAGU IN HIGH LIFE. 


I8l 


herself from the arms of her cousin and said to her, 
with a sort of joyous pride : 

“ My dear, can you lodge me ?” 

“ Lodge you ?” 

Yes ; would you believe it? I am afraid at night 
in the absence of my mother and my children. I 
remembered that your mother-in-law had returned 
to Paris, and I thought perhaps you would let me 
have her room for a couple of nights.” 

“ I will, indeed !” cried Madame de Lords. 

She rang for her maid, and, while she was giving 
her some orders in a low voice, Madame de Rias 
advanced to M. de Kevern — who had discreetly held 
himself aloof since her arrival until now, — and ten- 
dered him her hand. 

‘‘ Thanks !” she said. 

M. de Kevern bowed profoundly, without reply. 

She seated herself between the brother and sister, 
methodically unrolled her embroidery work, which, 
judging by its appearance, had not seen the light foi 


i 82 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


several years, and put herself at her ease in a large 
arm-chair. 

“ Y ou have a fire,” she said ; what a good idea ! 
How comfortable you are here !’* 



* I ii". C' i ( L, i ^ . 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE, 


183 


CHAPTER XIV. 

"PLATING from that moment, a long and spirited 
correspondence took place between the principal 
personages in this story. 

We merely publish the letters necessary to the 
thread of the narrative. 


Madame de Lonis to Monsieur de Rias, at Paris. 

“ Trouville, 23d August. 


‘‘ Dear Sir : 

“Yesterday, after your departure, your wife had 
the happy thought of coming to ask my hospitality. 
Do you approve of this ?“ 


Monsieur de Rias to Madame de Lo>ris. 
“ Dear Madame : 


I think it excellent.’ 


184 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


Madame de Lorris to Monsieur de Rias. 

“ You encourage me. Do you authorize me to 
show you that I am very indiscreet ?” 

Monsieur de Rias to Madame de Lorris. 

“ The more indiscreet you are, the better I shall be 
pleased.” 

Madame de Lorris to Monsieur de Rias. 

“ I don’t know that I ought However, I shall 

commence. 

My Dear Cousin. — I was not so insensible as I 
may have appeared to the reproachful flattery which 
you paid me last Saturday evening. I was, according 
to you. the determining cause of your marriage ; that 
it was my dazzling merit which had given you such a 
good idea of my sex that all your objections to matri- 
mony were suddenly dissipated, like a fog before the 
morning sun. Very well. I accept the compliment, 
provided you will allow me to fulfil the duties which 
it imposes upon me. I regard it as a point of honor 


A MAMRlAOi: IN HIGH LIFE. 


185 


to realize the hopes I made you conceive. I wish 
that your home may be happy. You v/ill tell me 
that it is too late ; I do not believe it, and I consecrate 
myself to proving the contrary. But it is necessary 
that you should second me by your confidence and 
good-will. I must exact of you some sacrifices. For 
example (I am taking soundings now), are you the 
man, in spite of your being essentially Parisian, to 
undertake a little voyage out of France, when I shall 
have shown you the opportunity?” 

Monsieur de Rias to Madame de Lorris, 

“ Yes, if you will accompany me.” 

Madame de Lorris to Monsieur de Rias. 
‘'Apparently you have not forgiven me for hav- 
ing taken, the other evening, the part of your wife 
against you, and you revenge yourself by an imperti- 
nence. I wish to tell you that our interview im- 
pressed me with sympathy for you. Your tone of 
sincerity and of grief touched me. I began to per- 


1 86 A MARHIAUK IN HIGH LIFE. 

suade myself that I was wrong in accusing you, OJ* at 
least accusing you alone for the troubles in your 
home. 

“ In short, it was not only in consequence of my 
affection for Marie, it was also esteem for you which 
induced me to offer you my humble services. It only 
remains for me to tender my excuses.” 

Monsietir de Rias to Madame de Lorris. 

“ Dear Madame : 

I am perfectly ashamed of my folly. I was, in 
truth, borne down by the thought that you had gone 
over to the enemy, and only cared for her interests. 
You will deign to concede that your brusque proposi- 
tion to send me out of France, was not of a nature 
to modify this bitter impression. 

“ Your very kind letter delivers me over to you en- 
tirely. I will joke no more, reason no more ; I will 
listen and obey. I am ready to believe that in invit- 
ing me to expatriate myself, you give me a signal 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


187 


proof of your good intentions. You must own that 
one could not give a greater proof of confidence and 
respect While awaiting your orders, I will pack my 
trunks.” 


Madame de Lorris to M de Rias. 

** Still a little bitterness — but submission ! that 
is sufficient I drop, sir, the light tone, which little 
suits the seriousness of my thoughts and of yours. 
You understand that I have received the confidence 
of your wife. You have said grave words to her, 
very offensive and, permit me to tell you, very impru- 
dent. 

After such a scene, and in the state of mind of 
both, do you not think that your intimacy with her 
will be very difficult ? that life in common, continued 
immediately after this, would only envenom your 
mutual wounds, and render them irremediable ? 

'‘Do you not think that it would be better to 
give time for each to grow calm, to forget your 


88 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


grievances, and perhaps to remember your own 
faults ? I entreat you to consider all this with me. 
Your wife returns to Paris in eight days. I have 
heard you say that a sojourn in England was indis- 
pensable for your historical researches, but that you 
had never had the courage to go. Take courage 
now, I beg of you. I have a profound belief that on 
this step hinges the happiness of your life. During 
your absence I will take care of your wife ; she shall 
live at home, or with her mother, as you please; but 
our lives shall be in common. 

“She is worthy of you, I am sure; and I affirm it ; 
but this is not enough, since you do not love her as 
she is. Well, I will do my best to remodel her so 
that you shall still find in her the woman of your 
dreams — that is to say, a sailor’s wife, I believe. 

“ Only, sir, if you wish to keep her such as I shall 
render her back to you, you must, if you please, make 
some slight reforms on your side. I have upon this 
subject a few ideas which I shall mature with my 


A MAREIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


189 


great wisdom, and I shall have the honor of laying 
them before you at the proper time and place.” 


Monsieur de Rias to Madame de Lorris, 

‘‘Dear Madame: 

“ I will undergo the ordeal. 

“ I expect nothing from it for my happiness, but 
everything for my justification. You cannot fail to 
recognise that there are incurable follies, which dis- 
courage and render hopeless the most patient affec- 
tion. You will be more just to me, and I shall not 
regret the sacrifice I make, if by it I shall have gained 
the affection of a heart so delicate and generous as 
your own. 

“ I leave in two days for London. 

“ I desire that Madame de Rias should live at 
home. I entreat that Madame Fitz-Gerald will be 
kind enough to give me, occasionally, news of my 
children.” 


A MABBIAGU IN EiGH LIFE. 


190 


Madame Fitz- Gerald to Monsieur de Rias, Clarendon 
Hotels London. 

'' Paris, October. 

“ My Dear Lionel : 

“ I send you the new photographs of your 
children, who are both very well. They sat remark- 
ably well for children of their age. The photographer 
was surprised at it. He was a Pole, whose name I 
won’t even attempt to write. He was recommended 
to us by the duchess. Poor woman ! I am quite dis- 
consolate about the way in which she behaves with 
her cousin Pontis. The duke is very blind. So much 
the better for that matter. But to come back to your 
dear children. They are two prodigies of intelligence 
and beauty. They console me for many things. You 
do not understand me, my friend. 

“ I hope your great work makes headway. We 
shall be very happy, my daughter and I, to hear it 
read. It will be delightful. We are going out very 


.4 MAHniAOE m HIGH LIFE. 


I9I 

little this winter. My daughter hardly ever leaves 
her cousin de Lords. They are like Paul and Vir- 
ginia. They read Madame de Sevign^ together. We 
don’t write like that woman now-a-days. 

Adieu, my friend ! When are you coming back 
to us ?” 

Monsieur de Rias to Madame Fitz-Gerald, Paris. 

“ London. 

I beg pardon, dear madam ; we do still write like 
Madame de Sevignd, and your charming letter is the 
proof of it. 

“Women write with a natural genius that art 
cannot approach — not even that of the Polish photo- 
grapher. I am not the less delighted with the pic- 
tures, and very grateful for your attention. 

“ You wish to know the date of my return. 
Madame de Lords can give you a great deal better 
information on that subject than I can. Am I here 


192 


A MARRIAGE IM HIGH LIFE. 


for two months, or ten years? Must I become a 
British subject ? She only knows. 

I kiss with tender respect everybody’s beautiful 
hands. There are none equal to them in England.” 

Madame de Lorris to Monsieur de Rias. 

“They tell me, sir, that you desire to know the 
duration of your sojourn in the United Kingdom. 
Nothing is more natural ; but I cannot, 3^ou under- 
stand, tell you in advance. All must depend on the 
success which I obtain in the work I have undertaken. 

“ Your amiable wife, thank Heaven ! lends herself 
to the work with so much good-will that I can, from 
to-day, limit your exile to a few months, three or 
four. Let us say six — for time is necessary to con- 
solidate matters.” 

The Same to the Same. 

“You would be wrong to suppose, sir, that we 
pass our lives, your wife and I, in the austerity of a 


A MAJmiAGB IN HIGH LIFE. 


193 


cloister. To tell you the truth, we are two very lively 
widows. 

We run through Paris like two countrywomen, 
and we make strange discoveries ; for instance, the 
Mus^e du Honore, the Musde de Cluny, the Mus^e 
Carnavalet. We even get as far as the Musde of 
Saint-Germain, in passing by the pavilion Henri IV., 
where we breakfast divinely. We have often a very 
obliging and very well-informed guide (and not at all 
compromising, you may believe), who points out and 
explains to us everything of interest. We brush up 
our history, somewhat neglected, I must admit, geog- 
raphy, rhetoric, and even our philosophy, as from a 
grand illustrated book. We travel over time and 
space as if we had wings. We go from the stone age 
to Louis the XIV.’s century, from the lacustrine habi- 
tations to the Hotel de Rambouillet, and we see the 
difference. 

“ But we have too much to do to pass all our time 

put of doors. Had we not better commence the edn- 

13 


194 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


cation of our children ? A little of the alphabet, of 
the piano, of sacred history, is enough to begin with ; 
but later on, when they are more capable of learning, 
and we of teaching, we shall do better. Then we have 
our flowers ; it was your wife’s idea to empty the hot- 
houses at Fresnes to fill the house here with flowers 
and leaves from top to bottom. We have to bring 
them and send them back twice a week, so that the 
plants will not wither. We place them here, and 
move them there, and water them, and sponge them, 
and it smells good ; but what smells better still, is our 
linen closet. A nice place is a linen closet. You will 
be wild over yours. You will fall on your knees 
before the large wardrobes with glass doors, where 
piles of linen, white as snow, are displayed ; these 
white piles are tied with blue ribbon, strewed with rose- 
leaves, and perfumed with the healthy odor of orris- 
root, which makes us think of our powdered grand- 
mothers. In brief, order and extreme cleanliness 
reign in our house, I spare you the details; but 


A MARRIAQS IN HIGH LIFE. 


195 


have written you enough to prove to you that we take 
pride in our house. 

If I should give you a complete idea of our daily 
employments, I should have to speak of our works of 
charity ; but w'here would be the merit if we spoke of 
them ? 

“ The evenings we give to art, theatres, music and 
reading combined. We read Sa'nt-Simon, when we 
return from Versailles; Madame de Sevignd or 
Madame de Lafayette, when we leave the hotel Car- 
navalet ; a romance of George Sand, when we want to 
dream ; and a leading article, when we want to go to 
sleep. What ! you will say, no dresses, balls, re- 
unions nor fashionable fetes ? 

“ Excuse me, sir, a little of all that, too. We are, 
after all, women in high life, and will not cease to be 
so, even to please you ; for you like housewives and 
matrons, but they must have white hands, rosy nails 
and well-fitting dresses. We go into society at cer- 
tain times ; we know that that is a pleasure permitted 


196 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


to us, but we also know that permissible pleasures 
only turn into vices when they are abused, not simply 
used. Therefore, we do not abuse them. 

"We give to worldly recreations that part which 
appertains to the existence of a well-bred Christian, 
and nothing more. 

"You will find it difficult to believe me, sir. Such 
a complete metamorphosis in the habits and tastes of 
your wife will seem improbable. 

" It would be so, indeed, if it were not explained by 
a secret reason which you do not suspect, that you 
would never imagine, which I ought to be silent about, 

and which is there is somebody whom your wife 

desires to please, to charm, to edify, to attach to her, 
and that some one, I fancy, my dear cousin, is your 
unworthy self.’' 

Madame de Lorris to Monsieur de Rias. 

" March. 

" The task is done, sir. In a few weeks, you ma^ 


A MAJiJi/AG£ IN HIGH LlHE. 


19; 


return to Paris. You have gone through the proba- 
tion to the end, with a resignation and a loyalty 
which touches me. I appreciate your confidence. I 
have proved worthy of it by doing my best. Aided 
by the counsels of my beloved brother, to whom I 
owe all that I am, all that you esteem in me, I have 
tried to open for you a happier life. Your wife, in all 
that concerns her, has seconded my efforts with all 
her heart and all her mind. It only remains for me 
to ask you to do as she has done. This is not the 
least delicate part of my task, and in order to accom- 
plish it, I must resort to a daring frankness, for 
which I crave your indulgence. 

“ A long time, sir, before you honored me with 
your confidence, your marriage was for me the object 
of much deep and sober reflection. The sad turn 
which it had taken, astonished and troubled me to the 
last degree. It confounded my good sense, discon- 
certed my logic and alarmed my piety. I knew your 
wife as I knew myself. I thought that I understood 


198 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


you well also, and it was rather difficult to fancy that 
the union of two beings so happily dowered and so per- 
fectly disposed for each other’s happiness and welfare, 
should fatally turn toward misunderstanding, discord, 
and a disordered household. If marriage, even con- 
tracted in these rare conditions of harmony, brought 
only disaster, it was time to renounce it ; the institu- 
tion was condemned. This was what caused me great 
pain to admit. Happily, by racking my poor head 
for ideas, I finished by discovering that instead of 
attributing the evils to marriage, it was perhaps more 
just to ascribe them to the married people, and 
specially, I confess, to the husband. 

“ I know that women are too frivolously brought 
up in France; that their education is superficial and 
exclusively worldly ; that it but ill-prepares them for 
the serious duties of wifehood : all this I grant you ; 
but despite all this, I dare to affirm, as a general prin- 
ciple, that there is not one of them who is not morally 
superior to the man she marries, and far more capable 


A MABEIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


199 


than he of all the domestic virtues ; and I will tell 
you why : it is because women all have, in a higher 
degree than you think, the main virtue of marriage, 
which is the spirit of sacrifice ; but it is difficult for 
them to renounce all when their husbands renounce 
nothing ; and that is nevertheless what they are asked 
to do. 

“ You have, perhaps, fancied yourself, sir, a model 
husband, and in many respects you have been one ; I 
give you that praise ; but you have, notwithstanding, 
a point of resemblance to the mass of husbands, which 
is, that you make for yourself a very clear idea of the 
duties which marriage imposes upon the woman, and 
a very vague one of those which it demands of the 
man. Marriage is not a monologue ; it is a piece for 
two persons. Now, you have studied only one char- 
acter, and it was not your own. You are too sincere,, 
sir, not to admit that your personal conception of 
marriage was simply this: to add to the habitual 
comforts of your life, an agreeable accessory in the 


200 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


person of a good and pleasing woman, who should 
ornament your house, who should perpetuate your 
name, and who, in short, should bring you, without 
troubling you too much, a supplement of comfort and 
respectability. You have busied yourself greatly, like 
all of your sex, in endeavoriug to find in Paris, in the 
country or in China, that marvellous woman who 
would make every sacrifice and exact none. You 
have not found her, and no one will find her, because 
that rare bird of which you all dream — the domestic 
woman — necessitates the existence of a bird still rarer 
—the domestic man. 

“What, sir, is a ‘domestic man?’ 

“ A domestic man is not one who sits at the feet of 
his wife, and embroiders, who makes out the bills of 
fare, who writes the invitations, who trims the lamps 
and regulates the clocks. We call a domestic man the 
man with whom we read the same book, with whom 
we see the same play, with whom we admire the same 
picture, or the same landscape, the man who gives us 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


201 


an intellectual and moral life by the side of his own, 
or rather in his own, who associates us with him, if 
not in all his occupations, at least in all his leisure, 
and who has in consequence no taste, no pleasure, no 
interest of heart or mind, that he will not, or that he 
cannot permit us to spare ; the man who in marrying 
freely pours all his worldly goods into the bosom of 
his family and home, without any selfish reservation. 
Be such a man, sir, and you will keep your wife at 
home by being there yourself. Your hearth will not 
only be a home, it will be a domestic altar. It will 
follow you everywhere, be with you in all places. It 
will be in her heart and in yours, whenever you inter- 
mingle your affectionate thoughts, impressions, faith 
and charity. 

“ Marriage is an enterprize which promises inesti- 
mable benefits ; but there is a list of indispensable in- 
structions for it. Have you read it ? 

I fear not, because you would have seen there 
that a great part of a woman’s education must be 


202 


A MAERIAQS IN HIGH LIFE. 


given her by her husband ; that it is for him to model 
her to his will, to form her according to his desires, 
to elevate to the dignity of his sentiments the young 
heart and mind which asks only to please him ; you 
would then have learned that it is at once wise 
charming, to add to the bonds which unite a wife to 
her husband, those which bind pupil to master, in- 
structor, guide and friend. 

“ I foresee the objection ; the young heart and mind 
fled from your care. They opposed to you their 
futile education, their taste for dissipation, for vanity, 
for coquetting ; in short, the incurable frivolity of 
woman. I do not believe, sir, in the incurable frivolity 
of woman ; nor do you, because you see, as I do, 
every day, that frivolity transforms itself under the 
empire of passion, pity, faith, misfortune, into austere 
devotion and rigid abnegation. 

“ No, own it. You have not tried. You hoped 
that the child you had married would suddenly 
become, by the mere virtue of the sacrament, a per- 


A Marriage m bigb life. 


203 


feet wife. No, sir. That was a miracle which you 
would certainly have had to perform yourself. 

“ I have finished my sermon. 

“Excuse me. Meditate upon the thoughts ex- 
pressed in the text, during the last days of your 
exile, and you cannot fail to give a finishing touch 
to the work which my feeble hands have only 
begun.” 

Madame de Rias to M. de Rias. 

“ April. 

“You deemed it necessary, my dear Lionel, to give 
to our existence an interval of separation and of 
silence. My resignation lasted until the last moment ; 
but I cannot allow you to return without sending you 
a kind word from my heart. I hope that, hereafter, 
you will be better satisfied with your affectionate and 
faithful wife. 

Marie. 

“ P. S. — Unless you countermand it, I intend to 


204 


A MAHitTAG^ m UlOti LIFE. 


take up my abode at Fresnes about the ist of May. 
I will await you there. I shall still have the com- 
pany of my dear Louise, who is going to reside at 
the Pavilion with her brother.” 



1 1 \ i 




‘ -siv J.J. , , I 


A MAJiBIAGF IN HIGH LIFE. 


205 


CHAPTER XV. 

DE RIAS was too honest a man, and he had 
too truly suffered from the trouble in his home 
and the cruel error of his life, not to view with tender 
satisfaction the hope of better days which the general 
tone of this correspondence seemed to offer to him. 
He was very far indeed from assenting to the theories 
of Madame de Lorris, which seemed to him strongly 
tinged with partiality for' her sex; but, after all, what- 
ever had been the original cause of the demoralization 
of his wife, it was sufficient for him that she recog- 
nised it and seemed disposed to repair it. With the 
generosity of his nature he put aside all considera- 
tions of his self-love, and, without troubling himself 
with the adjustment of a balance of blame and respon- 


2o6 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


sibilities, resolved to accept, unreservedly and with 
a glad heart, this newly-offered happiness. He saw in 
the installation of his wife at the Chateau de Fresnes, 
in anticipation of his return, a delicate intention. It 
was there that they had seen each other the first 
time ; there that they had loved ; there that they had 
been wedded ; it was there that they should recom- 
mence their life in common ; there that they should 
recommence their union from the beginning, as it 
were. In this thought there was something very ten- 
der and touching, and M. de Rias, on his side, prided 
himself in responding to it with the ardor and sponta- 
niety of a newly-married man. 

He wished to give himself the pleasure of surpris- 
ing his wife, and advanced by two or three days the 
date which he had already announced for his return. 
He passed half an hour at his home in Paris, admir- 
ing its good order ; then, about seven o’-'^lock in the 
evening, set out for Fresnes, and two hours later 
descended from the train at the station nearest to the 


A MAHlilAGU IN HIGH LIFE. 


207 


chateau. Not finding there a carriage to convey him, 
he gayly set out on foot, leaving his baggage at the 
depot. 

It was a beautiful evening in spring-time, softly 
lighted by the young moon and millions of stars. 
Lionel traversed, with emotion, that route so often 
gone over by him with his young betrothed, in the 
days of his love. He recalled at each step some dear 
remembrance which again awoke new hopes in his 
heart. 

With secrecy he entered the park by one of the 
forest avenues, and soon perceived, through the foli- 
age, the lights of the chateau. His heart beat vio- 
lently as he approached the windows of the family 
sitting-room. His curiosity prompted him to look in 
before entering. His dream was to find his wife alone 
for this first interview ; but Madame de Rias was not 
alone, in which there was nothing extraordinary or 
shocking, since she was not expecting him. 

She was in very good and honest company. She 


208 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


had around her, her mother, her two children, her 
cousin Madame de Lords, M. de Kevern, and that was 
all. At one end of the large parlor, Madame Fitz- 
Gerald and Madame de Lorris were playing upon the 
piano a sonata arranged for four hands. Near the 
fire-place, before a table, Madame de Rias was grace- 
fully kneeling on a low chair, her hand resting on the 
blonde head of her son, whilst her daughter was 
seated, two steps from her, upon the knees of M. de 
Kevern. They were examining a large book of en- 
gravings, spread ’out beneath the lamp, upon which 
M. de Kevern appeared to be giving some very in- 
teresting explanations, if one might judge by the pro- 
foundly attentive mien of the two children and their 
mother. From time to time the pretty bending heads 
were raised to address to the explainer a question or 
a smile. 

This scene presented nothing ©f the character ef 
worldly dissipation; nevertheless, M. de Rias, upon 
witnessing it, experienced a lively sense of displeasure. 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


209 


There was in this little family circle, and particularly 
in the group of which Madame de Rias was a 
member, an air of happy and placid intimacy which it 
would seem really awkward to interrupt by a surprise, 
however agreeable it might be. 

M. de Rias retired from the window with a gesture 
of ill-humor, walked away a few steps, and then 
returned. The more he contemplated the family 
scene before him, the more there grew upon him a 
feeling deeper and more serious than mere contrariety, 
and his features clouded, and his brow contracted 
almost dolorously, when he saw his two children — for 
whom the hour of retiring had arrived— leap to the 
neck of M. de Kevern and cover him with kisses. 

Tea Was brought in at that moment. Lionel pre- 
sumed that Madame de Lords and her brother would 
soon take their leave, and resolved to await their 
departure before presenting himself to his wife. He 
ensconced himself in a leafy alley at the edge of the 

park, and there walked to and fro, lost in thought 

14 


210 


A MARRIAGE IN EIGE LIFE. 


After a few minutes, he heard the opening of the 
glass door fronting upon the park, and saw coming 
forth, first Madame de Lorris, then his wife, leaning 
on the arm of M. de Kevern. From the direction of 
their walk, he comprehended that Madame de Lorris 
and her brother, attracted by the beauty of the night, 
were returning on foot to the Pavilion, and that Ma- 
dame de Rias, according to appearances, was accom- 
panying them to the park gate. He let them depart, 
and followed slowly in the direction they had taken, 
in order that he might meet his wife on her return to 
the chateau. Chance obtained for him at length for 
this first interview the tUe-di-tUe he had so ardently 
desired, but which he felt, although without know- 
ing why, promised to be for him a very troubled 
pleasure. 

He saw Madame de Rias coming at some distance, 
before she saw him. He was half hidden by the 
fringe of shade at the edge of the forest overhanging 
the avenue, while his wife walked in the light, in the 


A MAItmAOE IN mOH LIPE. 


2II 

middle of the road. She seemed deeply absorbed in 
meditation, and advanced with slow steps, her arms 
crossed and her head sunk upon her breast. At a 
little distance from where Lionel had stopped, there 
was a rustic bench ; she seated herself upon it, as if 
thoroughly overcome, bowed her head in her hands, 
and he heard her weeping bitterly. 

At sight of this strange scene, the first impression 
of M. de Rias was an acute and icy grief, which 
seemed to penetrate to his bones. He was not loved, 
and the apprehension of his return was the cause of 
these mysterious tears. Such was the poignant 
thought which entered his mind ; but it was only 
as a flash, which was quickly obscured. The supply 
of confidence which he had brought with him could 
not be dissipated thus in a single minute. For six 
months they had sustained him with the thought that 
his wife had entirely returned to him ; that she only 
thought to please him ; that she consecrated to this 
object all her sacrifices, all her abnegations, all the 


212 


J MAUBIAOU IN NIGH LIFE. 


reforms of her life. She had herself confirmed this 
tender disposition in her note, at the last hour. He 
persuaded himself, then, that the doubt which had 
suddenly invaded his mind, was an injustice to her 
and a guilty ingratitude. Madame de Rias, like all 
women, shed tears easily ; this ebullition was no doubt 
caused by melancholy nervousness ; perhaps a last 
tribute of regret for the pleasures she was sacrificing 
to him — a regret which attested all the more the 
merit of her devotion. 

To rid himself of these new chimeras, he stepped 
quickly out of the shade into the middle of the road 
and advanced toward the rustic bench, walking in the 
light, that his approach might not alarm her. At the 
noise of his footsteps, Madame de Rias suddenly 
arose ; he made an amicable sign toward her with his 
hands, and she heard him address her, in a pleasant 
tone : 

“ You must think me quite a child, but I wanted to 
surprise you.” 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


213 


She quickly dried her eyes and came to meet 
him. He seized her hands, and felt that she 
shivered. 

“ Heavens ! my dear,” he said ; “ how thoughtless 
and awkward I am ! I have frightened you.” 

A little,” she murmured ; I was so far from ex- 
pecting you — see, I am all trembling !” 

You do not embrace me, Marie ?” 

Pardon me !” 

And she presented her forehead to him. 

After this cold ceremony, a little different from the 
effusion which M. de Rias had premeditated, they 
took their way toward the chateau, walking side by 
side. A pause of constrained silence ensued, and 
then she suddenly began to interrogate him, with a 
sort of feverish animation, upon the incidents of his 
voyage : crossing the channel ; the hours of trains 
and packet-boats ; then she passed, in the same tone, 
to her children, telling him of their progress, and re- 
lating to him incidents marking their intelligence. 


214 


A MABBIAOI/ IN HIGH LIFE. 


They had been put to bed only a moment ago, and 
were not yet asleep, she hoped. 

As soon as they entered the chateau, she took him 
to the children’s room. They were sound asleep and 
Lionel did not wish to awaken them. He contented 
himself with casting upon their sweet faces a look of 
mingled sadness and agitation. 

On descending to the parlor, they were met by Ma~ 
dame Fitz- Gerald, who had been hastily apprised of 
her son-in-law’s arrival, and came, in a mob-cap, to 
welcome him. She uttered several ejaculations of 
surprise, embraced him, excused the impropriety of 
her dress and discreetly retired. 

Left alone with his wife, M. de Rias was not slow 
to perceive that while she responded to his questions 
and affectionate compliments with an appearance of 
enjoyment, she was singularly absent-minded and pre- 
occupied. Her gayety, visibly forced, was momenta- 
rily extinguished in an icy silence. In proportion as 
the evening advanced, he surprised in her eyes an in- 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


215 


creasing expression of uneasiness, anxiety, and even 
of anguish. Himself more and more oppressed and 
chilled, he interrupted the interview. 

My room is prepared — is it not, my dear ?” said 
he, rising abruptly. 

“ Yes, oh ! yes certainly.” 

Then she sighed, as if in spite of herself. 

She stood up before him, smiling and embarrassed. 
He looked in her eyes, and she blushed. “ Good* 
night,” he murmured, and, feebly pressing her hand, 
left the room. 

Notwithstanding the fatigue of a day of travel and 
emotion, M. de Rias, did not even attempt to take re- 
pose. During long hours he paced his chamber to 
and fro, in a state of mind worthy of pity. Disen- 
chantment the most complete and bitter, had suc- 
ceeded to the illusions which his heart and his ima- 
gination had so long cradled. The lightning-like 
impression which had struck him in the instant when 
he saw his wife weeping in the park, was now decided. 


2 i6 ^ MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 

and he doubted no longer that impression was just 
and correct. His return was for her a sadness, a 
terror, a despair. From that moment the truth un- 
rolled itself before his eyes with a pitiless array of evi- 
dence, and inundated him with its cruel light. He 
went over, in his feverish thought, all the incidents, 
all the details, of this painful evening ; he recalled 
various features in his correspondence with Madame 
de Lorris ; he linked together all the points of evi- 
dence and interpreted them with a frightful lucidity. 
He did not believe that Madame de Lorris had inten- 
tionally abused and misled him, and that the conver- 
sation of his wife and the transformation in her tastes 
and habits were untruthful inventions. No ; Madame 
de Lorris did not deceive him, but, unwittingly, had 
told him only a part of the truth. It was true, in 
effect, that Madame de Rias had corrected herself of 
her worldly follies ; that she had given to her life a 
tone more serious, more intelligent and more worthy ; 
that she had ardently applied herself to the elevation 


A MARRIAGE IK HIGH LIFE. 


2t; 

of her heart and of her mind. It was still farther true, 
that she had done all that to obey and please the man 
whom she loved, but the man whom she loved was 
not him, it was M. de Kevern. That was what Ma- 
dame de Lorris had not told him, and that of which 
she was probably ignorant. He knew her hone.sty, 
h.er candor, her idolatrous confldence in her brother. 
She had associated him in her work, without suspect- 
ing the equivocal part that he might be tempted to 
take in it. 

Perhaps, in the agitations. of this grievous night, M. 
de Rias did not spare himself some secret reproaches 
and tardy lessons, for, in point of fact, all that which ^ 
this man had undertaken and accomplished he him- 
self should have done ; like him, he had been loved, 
had been all powerful over that heart which had 
shown itself so capable of devotion and of sacrifice ; 
but he had neglected to use his power, and now 
another usurped it. 

It was not the first time that M. de Rias, in the 


218 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIRE. 


course of his life, had encountered one of those wise 
sermonizers who constitute themselves the mentors 
of this erring world, and who most habitually apply 
themselves to saving, where they would most effectu- 
ally ruin. He knew that most of those austere 
counsellors are dangerous hypocrites, and those who 
are not hypocrites are. often the most dangerous. 

To which of those two categories did M. de Kevern 
belong? That was of little importance to Lionel. 
That which appeared very certain to him was that M. 
de Kevern had taken his place, at his fireside, in the 
heart of his wife and almost in the love of his children. 
That was enough for him to swear a mortal hate, and 
promise himself that he would make this man expiate 
all that he had been caused to suffer. In this thought, 
he saw a glimpse of hope, a solution of the difficulty 
entangling him, and at length, when day was break- 
ing, he sought some hours of sleep. 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


219 


CHAPTER XVI. 

IJ'PON awaking, M. de Rias arranged his course 
of conduct. Before giving vent to the senti- 
ments which animated him, it would be necessary 
for him to have proofs, stronger and more unexcep- 
tionable than mere suspicions, and these he could 
assuredly not obtain by putting upon their guard 
those whom he suspected. He resolved then to im- 
part to them a sense of security by himself affecting 
perfect freedom and confidence.. His manners, a little 
cold and reserved, accorded well with this role, and 
would spare him those efforts at dissimulation which 
would be too painful. 

During the first day he saw with bitterness more 
than one circumstance to confirm his apprehensions 


220 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


That most painful to him was the unconscious testi- 
mony of his children. In his interviews with them, 
when he questioned them respecting their occupa- 
pations and pleasures during the time of his absence, 
the name of M. de Kevern was every instant on their 
lips — innocent accusations ! He was mingled in all 
their thoughts — in all their recitals, in their studies 
and their plays, in each detail of their daily life ; Ma- 
dame de Rias, on the contrary, pronounced his name 
very rarely and always with an embarrassed reserve. 
To hear her, one might have been led to believe 
that M. de Kevern was a stranger to her, admitted 
but at rare intervals to her home ; while in the 
mouths of her children he was clearly the guest 
and intimate companion of the family 

Lionel went that day to pay his respects to Madame 
de Lorris and to express his obligations to M. de 
Kevern. The latter received him with every appear- 
ance of calm cordiality. But in the countenance and 
the manner of Madame de Lorris, on the contrary, 


A MABJilAGE IN MtOH LIFE. 


221 


were novel and accusing symptoms. From the char- 
acter of her reports to M. de Rias, in the amicable 
correspondence exchanged between them, after the 
success of the experiment which she had suggested 
to him, it would have seemed but natural that this 
amiable woman should have welcomed him with 
frankness and warmth. Nevertheless, he found her 
singularly timid and constrained. There was trouble 
in her eyes and a shade of sadness on her brow. He 
thought he understood that she also had suppressed 
the truth, and that she was seriously disquieted in her 
heart and conscience. 

During the three or foqr days which followed, the 
families of the chateau and of the Pavilion contin- 
ued, at the instance of Lionel himself, to live in close 
intimacy, breakfasting and dining together at the 
home of either ; but, in spite of the ease and good 
grace that M. de Rias brought into their daily rela- 
tions, there reigned a manifest air of trouble, uneasi- 
ness and secret anxiety. M. de Kevern, under his 


222 


.4 MARRIAGE IN HIGH LiPE. 


habitual calm, was evidently full of care. Madame de 
Rias, sometimes agitated, sometimes dejected, always 
pale and weary, appeared to succumb under the 
weight of dissimulation, too heavy for her strength 
and perhaps her loyalty. She manifested before her 
husband a compromising appearance of being ill at 
ease ; she scrupulously avoided all tiU-d-tetes with M. 
de Kevern, but her eyes sought him incessantly and 
betrayed her. 

As to Madame de Lorris, more sad from day to 
day she watched Lionel with furtive attention, as if 
she doubted what he might clearly see. She had 
with her cousin frequent private interviews, out of 
which they both came with eyes reddened by tears. 
\Yas she then a confidant ? Was she an accomplice ? 
Did she push her blind affection for her brother to 
the point of protecting his amours ? Did she, on the 
contrary, force herself to recall Madame de Rias to 
reason and duty ? 

However it might be, it was evident that for every- 


A MARRIAOE IK HIGH LIFE. 


223 


body, except doubtless the excellent Madame Fitz- 
Gerald, M. de Rias did wrong in leaving England, and 
that he had come back to play in his own house and 
in the bosom of his family, the part of an intruder and 
a skeleton at the board. 

Lionel waited with sombre impatience the moment 
to violently end this insupportable situation, when 
chance offered him the opportunity. Troubled, since 
his return, with too easily accounted for insomnia, he 
was accustomed to hold vigil in his room, even after 
extinguishing his light. In the fifth night which 
followed his arrival at the chateau, toward one o’clock 
in the morning, he heard the noise of a door being 
opened with precaution, on the side of the house look- 
ing in the direction of the park. An instant after he 
saw a form, white and elegant, pass under his window, 
glide with the step of a phantom across the lawn, and 
disappear in the deep shade of a forest avenue. A 
sort of bitter satisfaction suddenly contracted the lips 
of M. de Rias. He seized and precipitately opened a 


224 


A MAREIAOE IN BIOH LIFE. 


mahogany box containing a pair of pistols, but, after 
a second’s reflection violently threw the arms upon 
the sofa, left his chamber and descended into the 
park. 

The direction which Madame de Rias hajd taken, 
was for him an almost certain indication. The ob- 
lique avenue on which she had entered led to one of 
the extremities of the park adjoining the woods of M. 
de Kevern. A bridle-path, but little frequented even 
during the daytime, formed on this side the limit 
between the two properties ; it was doubtless towards 
this that Madame de Rias wended her way, if her noc- 
turnal excursion had for its object that which Lionel 
supposed. Instead of following her footsteps, he 
took a little hunting-path, which crossed the thickets 
and shortened the distance. He relied upon his in- 
stincts and experierice as a hunter to enable him to 
follow its windings through the darkness, but in so 
doing he found much greater difficulty than he had 
anticipated. His agitation of mind and the haste of 


A MAERIAOE IN HIGH LIFE. 


225 


his pursuit had the effect, more than once, of leading 
him astray. 

Whilst slowly and painfully pushing his way 
through the brushwood, he could not help having 
some strange memories. He recalled a loving walk 
which he had taken one day — the day before his mar- 
riage — in these same woods and these same paths with 
Mademoiselle Fitz-Gerald. The contrast between the 
feelings which had charmed his heart on that day 
and those which tortured him at this moment, in- 
flicted upon him a heart-breaking grief 

Suddenly he stopped. The noise of voices, and as 
it seemed to him of sighs, struck his ear, in the midst 
of the silence of the woods and the night. He bent 
forward, parted the leaves, and, like an Indian stealing 
upon his enemy, glided forward with noiseless tread. 
He was on the border of the bridle-path, of which the 
relative clearness enabled him to perceive two sha- 
dows, walking closely side by side. He recognised, 

without any possibility of doubt, Madame de Ri^^s 

15 


226 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


and M. de Kevern. He held his breath ; he would 
have wished to suspend the beatings of his heart that 
he might listen better, but their interview ua;-' without 
doubt drawing to a close ; they exchanged words but 
rarely and then in a stifled voice. Madame de Rias 
frequently put her handkerchief to her face. Sud- 
denly M. de Kevern stopped, looked at her in silence, 
and, drawing her to him, pressed her passionately to 
his heart. 

A cloud of blood passed over the eyes of Lionel, 
and for some seconds seemed to blind him. When 
he could shake off his vertigo and see before him, M. 
de Kevern and Madame de Rias had disappeared. 



A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


227 


CHAPTER XVII. 

'HE next day, in the morning, M. de Rias’s valet 
placed in M. de Kevern’s own hands this note : 

“ I was, last night, in the park. I shall be obliged 
to you if you will, to-morrow morning at nine o’clock, 
be ready to receive two of my friends. 

Lionel de Rias.’' 

Immediately after having sent this message, Lionel 
set out for Paris. As soon as he arrived, he sought 
out one of his relatives who had an especial liking for 
affairs of honor. He told him that since his return 
from England he had several discussions with his 
country neighbor, M. de Kevern, in relation to their 
boundary rights and their reciprocal hunting privi- 


228 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


leges ; that these discussions had ended in a serious 
quarrel, which could only be settled by an appeal to 
arms, and begged him to be one of his seconds. M. 
d’Eblis hoped that so trifling a disagreement could be 
amicably adjusted. He promised, however, to take 
the first train the next day for Fresnes, so that he 
should be there at eight o’clock in the morning. 

M. de Rias then proceeded to the house of the 
Duke d’Estr^ny ; but the duke was at the club. He 
went there and found him. As he entered one of the 
parlors, where a group of young men surrounded a 
whist-table, one of the players chanced to pronounce 
the name of M. de Kevern. The sudden and marked 
silence which followed upon their perceiving M. de 
Rias, was a bitter proof to him that his conjugal mis- 
fortune was public talk. The Duke d’Estrdny re- 
ceived Lionel’s communication with a grave air ; 
listened without comment to the scarcely probable 
explanation which he gave of the origin of the quarrel, 
and placed himself, like M. d’Eblis, at his disposition, 


229 


A MAJH/UAG^J IN HIGH LIPH 

On returning to Fresnes about ten o’clock that 
evening, M. de Rias found Madame Fitz-Gerald in 
the drawing-room, alone and very sad ; she told him 
that her daughter had suffered much all the day, and 
that she had felt so unwell after dinner that she had 
gone to bed, begging them to let her take a little 
repose. Lionel, after several questions of affected 
solicitude, retired under the pretext of fatigue. 

Toward midnight, whilst seated before his writing- 
table, writing some letters, the door of his room was 
softly opened. He turned — Madame de Rias was 
before him, pale as a corpse. He fixed on her a look 
of glacial severity. 

“ What do you want ?” said he. 

“ I wish to speak to you,” murmured she, in a voice 
stifled and scarcely distinct. 

“ Speak!” 

“ Lionel, I am already half mad,” replied she, with 
a heart-breaking expression of grief; “I pray you 
spare me ! Oh 1 spare me 1” 


230 


J MABmAGB IN HIGH LIFE. 


** What is it you wish to say to me, my dear ?” 

Louise has just come she has had suspicions 

since morning she seized a moment when her bro- 
ther was absent she saw your letter we know 

all!” 

“ And what do you know ?” 

** I know that to-morrow you are going to fight 
with M. de Kevern I” 

M. de Rias rose and stood before her. 

^‘Listen, Marie,” said he, coldly; “I much regret 
that this affair has come to your knowledge ; but you 
may believe me it was not my fault. Now, why did 
you come here? You only waste your time. You 
ought to understand that your denials and your sup- 
plications would be at such a moment completely use- 
less. Your reception and countenance, since my re- 
turn, leave me in little doubt as to the character of 
your relations with M. de Kevern. Last night I 
followed you ; I saw what passed between you. I am 
then edified, and nothing in the world, you may be 


A MAERIAGE IN HIGH LIFE 


231 


certain, will hinder me from saving my honor, as 
much as still remains to be saved. Go ! leave me.” 

She fell upon a chair, and, wringing her hands, with 
eyes fixed on vacancy, 

My God !” she cried ; “ Oh ! my God !” 

“ I pray you, leave me,” said M. de Rias, harshly. 

She arose and took a few steps toward the door ; 
then, returning to him suddenly and throwing herself 
on her knees upon the floor : 

“Ah! well I” she cried; “kill me! — —that would 
be just ! but me alone ! me alone!” 

And her voice was lost in a burst of sobs. 

- “ How is it that you do not feel,” Lionel replied, 
“ that each one of your words is a new offence ?” • 

“ No, Oh ! no, I swear to you ! It is because 

you do not understand all. Let me tell you all, 

I implore you Ah ! you will see that I tell you 

the truth !-^ — Yes, I am guilty yes, I love M. 

de Kevern yes and if he had wished 1 

believe it is possible my love, my feebleness. 


232 


A MARRIAGE IK HIGH LIFE. 


would have refused him nothing ! You see that I 

do not spare myself ; but he did not wish it 

Oh ! God, he did not wish it ! It is he who pre- 
served me and you would kill him ! but it is 

impossible ! such an action would be odious, 

abominable ! 1 pray you, 1 pray you, do 

not commit it !” 

“ I see that you indeed love him,” said M. de Rias. 

“Yes, I love him,” continued she, still kneeling 
and crouching down before him. “ I love him because 
he has saved me, not only from himself, but from 

others ! Let me tell you ! several months ago, 

atTrouville, after that scene deserved perhaps 

but so hard and wounding neglected, desperate 

and corrupted at heart 1 wished to rush upon my 

ruin ; there was there a man who pursued me with 

his love whom I believed I loved who, you 

may suspect. Well, shall I tell you ? I waited for 

that man, on the night following your departure ; 

it was a word, one single word from M. de Kevern, 


A MAJiBIAGU m HIGH LIFE, 


233 


which brought me back to reason, to duty, to honor 

and you would kill him ! But — since then — I 

have loved him and, perhaps, my love has been 

shared it may be so ! but that love has re- 
mained in our hearts it has never been criminal 

never! You saw us last night alas! 

you have seen me in his arms and I feel it — 

well that you must believe and will still be- 
lieve, O ! my God ! that you have a mortal offence 

to avenge ! nevertheless, it is not so it is not 

so ! That moment of abandonment, of weakness 

was the first it was the last between us it was 

the farewell of a friend of a brother, whom I should 

see no more. Nothing more, in truth ! Since your re- 
turn, we have been — he, his sister and I — in a cruel 
combat. She wished that he should leave ; he hesi- 

tated, fearing that his sudden departure might awaken 

your suspicions 1 — I did not wish it and then 

— for I have still a little honesty — the existence daily 
between you and him—the duplicity — the continual 


234 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


deceit — rent my heart asunder. I made my sacrifice 
suddenly last night. I wished to see him immedi- 
ately, to make an end of it at once — and then I went 
where you followed me. He was going to leave to- 
day — and I was going to tell you a part of that 

which I now tell you ! Then, perhaps, you might have 
believed me whilst now you do not believe me !” 

No !” said M. de Rias, curtly. ^ 

A silence ensued, broken only by the convulsive 
sobbings of the young wife. 

“ Besides,” suddenly replied Lionel, if you are 
truly strangers — so far as concerns criminality — is 
there not in that which you have avowed enough 
to justify a resentment and implacable hate of a 
man ?” 

‘'Yes, doubtless yes, and yet, if you were 

certain, Lionel, very certain, that there is nothing 

more than that which I have avowed to you, if 

you were very sure that your pride only is wounded, 
not your honor, that there is nothing irreparable 


A MAI^mAGF IN HIGH LIFE. 


235 

between us, truly nothing would you not have 

pity — if not for me at least for his poor sister — so 

innocent, so devoted and so unhappy ! Would you 

kill her, or drive her mad ? my poor Louise, 

who loved me so much, and this is her recompense ! 
Oh ! if you would have that goodness, Lionel, if you 
would be generous enough to conquer this outburst 

of your offended pride very justly offended, alas! 

Ah I Lionel, 1 feel it 1 swear it to you 

that there is still happiness in store for us I 

Oh I I should be so grateful that you may com- 
mand anything of my heart I It has once been all 

yours it would return to you. It is not the 

moment, 1 know that well to speak of your 

faults for, after all, you have had some, perhaps ; 

but I will obliterate them from my memory 1 

will be so happy so happy to forget them and 

to make you forget mine ! so happy I Ah I I 

beg you 1 pray you — ■ — Oh I I would love you as 

much as God!” 


236 


A MAI^mAO^ IN HIGH LIFE. 


She was silent ; stifled by her tears, which flowed 
as profusely as her prayers. 

M. de Rias was visibly moved and actuated by a 
vivid emotion. For a few moments he paced to and 
fro. His features were frightfully distorted, and the 
convulsive trembling of his lips testified to the terri- 
ble struggle which he underwent. Suddenly he ap- 
proached his writing-desk, took a sheet of paper and 
wrote a few words thereon. Then approaching his 
wife — exhausted, panting and trembling at his feet — 

he gave her the note which he had just written. 

> 

You can read it,” he said to her; ** it is for Ma- 
dame de Lords.” 

She pushed back with one hand her dishevelled 
hair, which covered her face, and read the note — 
containing these lines only : 

“ Be so good as to say to your brother, madame, 
that he need expect nobody from me to-morrow.” 

The young wife uttered a cry, suddenly sprang up 
and seized the hands of her husband as if to draw 


A MARBIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


237 


him to her, in the exaltation of her gratitude and joy ; 
then, lowering her eyes, bathed .with tears, 

“ I dare not,” she murmured. 

“No, nothing now- nothing 1 beg of 

you,” said M. de Rias, in a voice profoundly moved. 
“ Go, Marie, go ! rest in peace !” 

She bowed her head, covered his hands with fever- 
ish kisses and left the room. 



i 



238 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

loftiness of sentiment to which M. de Rias 
had arisen in the emotion of this scene, unfortu- 
nately possessed no durability. Reflection, cold rea- 
soning and bitter experience, were not slow in making 
hi*m hear their voices and regaining their domination 
over him. Each day, in decreasing measure, as the 
time passed by, the impression produced upon him 
by the passionate words of Madame de Rias, her 
truthful accents and touching supplications, became 
enfeebled, and doubt and dark distrust recurred to 
his mind, gaining ground and meeting constantly 
with readier welcome. He soon reached that point 
where he asked himself if his easy confidence had 
not been rather the candor and generosity of a dupe, 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIEN 


239 


if he had not been the laughing-stock of a perfidious 
farce — one of those lies bathed in tears, of which even 
good women are not ignorant. 

The apparent relations between himself and wife 
were then exteriorly those of pleasant accord, of affec- 
tion and of unity. On the part of Madame de Rias, 
there was a constant effort to avoid whatever might 
be displeasing to her husband, and to do that which 
might be pleasing to him, manifesting always a timid 
and reserved affection, blended with devoted attention. 
Lionel, at the same time, manifested a characteris- 
tic goodness and graceful courtesy worthy of him. 
Never, in his language, or in his eyes, was there 
the shade of a resentment or a reproach ; his feelings 
were too exalted for him to forfeit his word or the 
forgiveness he had extended. 

But in the very midst of that sweet home-happi- 
ness, which seemed to almost realize the best dreams 
of his life, he was perhaps, 'in the depths of his soul, 
more unhappy than he had ever before been. An 


A MAJ^B/AGU IN HIGH LIFE. 


^40 

incurable suspicion devoured him— he had been a 
dupe ! He was secretly an object of the ironical dis- 
dain of M. de Kevern, and of his wife herself. This 
incessantly tormenting thought caused him the more 
profound sadness, for the reason that he felt it to be 
irremediable. It would always henceforth be between 
him and his wife, forever congealing in his heart and 
upon his lips the tendernesses and self-abandonments 
of love. He now bitterly regretted the impulse of his 
heart, which had condemned him to this agony of 
doubt and eternal dissimulation. 

One morning, toward the end of the month of July, 
as he was smoking a cigar in the yard outside the 
stables, he saw in the distance, Madame de Rias, 
walking rapidly, through one of the paths of the park. 
That path, at a little distance, crosses a road leading 
to the village where Madame de Rias was accustomed 
to dispense her charity. At first, he thought that this 
was the object of her present walk, although it seemed 
strangely matutinal for ^uch a purpose. A moment 


. A 3fABIdIAGU IN BIGH LIFE. 


241 


after, however, an apparently insignificant incident 
awoke another supposition in his mind. It was the 
hour at which the post-boy daily visited Fresnes, 
and, after delivering his letters at the chateau, took 
from the servants — or sometimes from a table in the 
vestibule — those intended for the mail, continuing on 
his way to the neighboring village through the path 
in which Madame de Rias was now walking. Lionel 
was suddenly struck with the idea that his wife wished 
to give some letter to the post-boy secretly, with her 
own hand, and that she had gone out with this de- 
sign to encounter him in the forest, away from the 
scrutiny of curious eyes. He was confirmed in this 
suspicion by seeing her speedily reappear and hur- 
riedly return to the chateau as soon as the post-boy 
had crossed her path. 

M. de Rias entered the meadows through which 

there was also a path leading to the village, shorter 

than that through the park, but interdicted to the 

public. A few minutes later he met the post-boy, at 

16 


242 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE, 


the moment when the latter was emerging from the 
woods. 

“I ran after you/’ he said to him, You took from 
the chateau, a little while ago, a letter addressed to 
M. de Kevern, — did you not ?” 

Yes, sir. Madame has just given it to me her- 
self” 

Exactly. Will you be kind enough to give it to 
me? There is a mistake in the address. You can 
take it to-morrow.” 

The post-boy obeyed and went on his way. 

The letter bore this superscription : 

M. Henry de Kevern, Hotel des Bergues, Geneva.” 

M. de Rias looked at the note, turned it and re- 
turned it in his hands, with inexpressible anguish. 
To open it and violate its secret would be an action 
concerning the character of which he could not 
deceive himself To respect it was to lose the oppor- 
tunity, probably the only one, of dissipating the horri- 
ble uncertainty which poisoned his life. 


A MABBIAGi: m HIGH LIFE. 


243 


\ He seated himself before one of the thickets of the 
park, upon the trunk of a fallen tree, and was pro- 
foundly absorbed in his perplexities when the noise 
of carriage-wheels caused him to raise his eyes. He 
recognised the carriage of Madame de Lords. He 
remembered that she was going to breakfast at the 
chateau that day. When she perceived Lionel, Ma- 
dame de Lords apparently thought that he had come 
to meet her. She ordered her coachman to stop, 
immediately got out and sent away the carriage. 

This is very kind of you, sir,” she said. Is 
Marie well ?” 

“ Very well, what a beautiful morning, is it 

not ?” 

He opened the gate and conducted her into the 
avenue leading to the chateau. 

Struck with his careworn and absent air, she said 
to him, after they had gone a few paces : 

Well, — what is new now, my dear friend ?” 

. '^Nothing.” 


244 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


“ I ask your pardon, your brow is stormy 

and then you were dreaming there, a little bit ago, 
like a man meditating a crime.” 

“ I have sometimes very sad thoughts,” said Lionel. 

“Why? You will never be happy thus, my 

poor friend.” 

“ I fear so.” 

She replied in a serious voice : 

It gives me a great deal of pain to hear you say 
that.” Then, stopping in the middle of the avenue, 
she continued : 

Come! What is it that is lacking ? Confidence — 
is it not so ?” 

Lionel did not reply. 

''Mon Dieu!'' she continued; “what then can be 
said or done to give it to you ?” 

“What must be done,” said M. de Rias abruptly, 
giving way to a movement of impulse, “ is to tell me 
what is in this letter.” 

“ This letter I What is this letter?” 


A MAEBIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


245 


He held it before her eyes ; she read the^ address, 
and turned slightly pale. 

^‘This,” replied Lionel, “is the history of this let- 
■ ter. This morning I saw Marie give it secretly to the 
post-boy. At the first moment the idea of letting the 
letter go, bearing away eternally its secret, appeared 

to me impossible, and I possesed myself of it. 

That is already too much 1 will not open it. Take 

it — —it is not a trap that I spread for you that 

would be detestable. Do not open it, I beg of you : 

I do not wish it. However sure you may be of your 
friend and your brother, you are not sure enough to 
risk such a proof Burn it, without reading it your- 
self and without speaking of it to anybody. Promise 
me ” 

Madame de Lorris took the letter, with a slightly 
trembling hand — she looked fixedly at M. de Rias, 
and broke the envelope. 

The heroic young woman had then, however, a mo- 
ment of faintness ; a haze passed over her eyes, and. 


246 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


she tottered. Then she bravely nerved herself to 
read the letter aloud : 

“ Sir and Friend : 

Am I wrong in writing you these lines ? I can- 
not believe it, though I am hiding it from my hus- 
band. I wish to save him even the shadow of a pain- 
ful remembrance; but towards you I feel that there 
is a duty owing, that of telling you that I am happy. 

I know you well enough to be certain that the 
thought of my happiness will be to you the best 
of recompenses, and — if need be — consolation. I re- 
member your words during that last interview, which 
nearly had such fatal consequences — ' the best news 
that I ever could hear, sent by you to me, would be 
that your heart had sided with your duty.’ 

Alas ! that then seemed to me impossible, yet a 
few hours later that miracle was performed. My hus- 
band saved me from the agonies of death ; his gener- 
ous confidence, his goodness, truly divine, inspired in 
me not only gratitude, but esteem, respect and tender- 


A MABmAGB IN HIGH LIFE. 


247 


ness worthy of them. From that moment he regained 
me entirely, and I have loved him ever since. 

“ Each day still, when I recall that terrible night— 
when I remember the follies, the imprudences of my 
language — (because, for the better showing of my 
sincerity, I allowed myself to appear even more guilty 
than I was) — when I think of his agonized heart, 
his wounded pride, of all that he must have suffered, 
all that he must have vanquished to tender me his 
hand, — I long to fall at his feet and worship him. 

“ I dare not. He is tender and excellent, but un- 
quiet, a little distrustful, yet, perhaps, in his secret 
soul. I feel it. I suffer from it sometimes, but with- 
out being discouraged, for I also feel that the future is 
mine, and that all the truth that is in my heart, will, 
in time, pass into his and open it entirely to me. 

This, sir, is what I wished to say to you, and in 
telling it to you, do I not give you the greatest proof 
of the esteem of your pupil and friend ? 


Marie de Rias.” 


248 


A MARRIAGE IN HIGH LIFE. 


When she had finished reading this letter, in a voice 
shaken by emotion, Madame de Lorris saw that M. 
de Rias had his hand over his eyes and that tears 
rolled down his face. 

We cannot finish this recital without reminding the 
reader that the Keverns are very rare in the world ; 
that it is a very delicate thing to count too much on 
their disinterested aid, and that a husband solicitous 
for the perfecting of the education of his wife, would 
be wisely employed in conducting it himself and 
never delegating his powers 


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NUMBERS NOW READY: 


1. Hyperion, by Longfellow, . . .20 

2. Oiitre-Mer, by Longfellow, . . .20 

3. The Happy Boy, by BjOrnson . .10 

4. Ame, by BiOmson, 10 

5. Frankenstein, by Mrs. Shelley, .10 

6. The Last of the Mohicans, . . .20 

7. Clytie, by Joseph Hatton, . . .20 

8. The Moonstone, by Wilkie Col- 

lins, Part I, 10 

9. Ho. Part II, 10 

10. Oliver Twist, by Dickens, . . .20 

11. The Coining Kace : or the New 

Utopia, by Lord Lytton, . . .10 

12. Leila ; or the Siege of Granada, 

by Lord Lytton, 10 

13. The Three Snaniards, by George 

Walker, 7 . .20 

14. The Tricks of the Greeks Unveil- 

ed, by Robert Houdin, ... .20 

15. L’Abbe Constantin, by Ludovic 

Halevy, Author of “La Fille 
de Mme. Angot,” etc., ... .20 

16. Freckles, by Rebecca Fergus 

Redclill. A new original 
story, .20 

17. The Dark Colleen, by Mrs. Rob- 

ert Buchanan, 20 

18. They Were Married! by Walter 

Besant and James Rice, . . .10 

19. Seekers after God, by Canon 

Farrar, D.D., 20 

20. The Spanish Nun, by Thos. De 

Quincey, .10 


21. The Green Mountain Boys, by 

Judge D. P. Thompson, . . .20 

22. Fleurette, by Eugene Scribe, . .20 

23. Second Thoughts, by Rhoda 

Broughton 20 

24. The New Magdalen, by Wilkie 

Collins, 20 

25. Divorce, by Margaret Lee, . . .20 

26. Lifeof Washington, by Leonard 

Henley, 20 

27. Social Etiquette, by Mrs. W. A. 

Saville, 15 

28. Single Heart and Double Face, 

by Chas. Reade 10 

29. Irene : or the Lonely Manor, by 

Carl Detlef, 20 

30. Vice Versa, by P. Anstey, . . .20 

31. Ernest Maltravers, by Lord 

Lytton 20 

32. The Haunted House and Cal- 

deron the Courtier, by Lord 
Lytton 10 

33. John Halifax, by Miss Mulock, .20 

34. 800 Leagues on the Amazon, by- 

Jules Verne, 10 

35. The Cryptogram, by Jules Verne .10 

36. Life of Marion, by Horry and 

Weems, 20 

37. Paul and Virginia 10 

38. Tale of Two Cities, by Charles 

Dickens, 20 

39. The Hermits, by Rev. Charles 

Kingsley, 20 


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JOHN W. LOVELL CO., Publishers, 

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The success that has attended the publication of the Library so fat, 
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Am ong the first volumes in this Series, will be 


Seekers after God, by Canon Farrar, 

D.D 20 

John Halifax Gentleman, by Miss 
Mulock, ...... .20 

The Hermits, by Eev. Ghas. Kings- 
ley, 20 I 


Eobert Falconer, by Geo.Macdonald .20 
Hypatia, by Eev. Chas. Kingsley, . .20 
Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress, . .20 
The Pupils of St. John the Divine, 
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The Spy, by J. Fenimore Cooper, ,20 
The Partisan, by Gilmore Simms, .20 


The Two Admirals, by Cooper, .20 
Life of Washington. Written espe- 
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'VIGrOIi 

FOR THE ■ ' 

-Hit Brain and Nervous System. 

PHYSICIANS HAVE PKESCRIBED OVER 600,000 PACKAGES OF 

VITALIZED PHOS-PHITES, 

AND HAVE FOUND THIS BRAIN AND NERVE FOOD indispensable 
IN THE TREATMENT OF DISEASES OF DEBILITY AND IN 
ALL NERVOUS DISORDERS. 

Physicians prescribe it because they know its composition: it is^ 
not a secret remedy : the formula is printed on every label. 


It restores the energy lost by nervousness, weakness or indigestion; it relieves lassitude 
and neuralgia; refreshes the nerves tired by worry, excitement or excessive sensitiveness; 
strengthens a failing memory, and gives renewed vigor where there has been nervous 
exhaustion or debility. 

It aids wonderfully in the mental and bodily growth of infants and children. Under 
its use the teeth come easier, the bones grow better, the skin plumper and smoother; the 
brain acquires moce readily, and rests and sleeps more sweetly. An ill-fed brain learns no 
lessons, and is excusable if peevish. It gives a happier and better childhood. 

“ No College Student, whether young gentleman or lady, no anxious, diligent school- 
girl, can accomplish what the brain aspires to without the assistance of this Brain Food. 
With its aid study is easy and memory retentive.” — W. E. Sheldon, National Journal of 
Education. 

“ No rapidly-growing infant or child can develop into intellectual or physical beauty 
without a sufficiency of Phos-phites.” — Pkof. Pekct. 

“ I can cordially recommend to this class of people — writers, teachers, 
preachers, thinkers — Dr. F, Crosby^s Vitalized Fhos-phites — 
because I hare tried them myself. Before I could conscientiously say any- 
thing about them I said to Dr. Crosby: ‘ 1 am suffering from overwork of the 
nerves; if the compound is fitted for anyone's case, it is for mine.’ 

“ I have taken it, and feel that it has done me a decided benefit. I know 
I suffer from over-employment of th& brain on my three papers; 1 know I 
waste away my nerve material. This compound is fitted to r e-supply this 
waste — that is the reason it is useful. 

“It is especially useful in indigestion. Debility, Sleeplessness, etc. I my- 
self already feel the beneficial effects I have derived. 

“A. M. KELLOGG, 

“Editor of K. Y. School Journal, Scholar's Companion, etc., etc., 21 
Park Place." 

F. CROSBY CO., 

. 664 & 666 SIXTH AVENUE, N. Y. 

For sale toy Orjugrgists; or toy mail in r. O. order, toill, or 

postas^e stamps, $1. 


I 



SIEUB 


Superior to all Olliers in Tone, Durability and. Workmansbi] 
have the endorsement of the leading Artists. First Medal | 
Merit and Diploma of Honor at Centennial Exhibition. 

Musical authorities and critics prefer the SOHMER PIANO 
and they are purchased by those possessing refined musical tas 
and appreciating the richest quality of tone and highest perfectic 
generally in a Piano. 


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GRAND, SQUARE AND' UPRIGH 

PIANOS. ' 


SOHMER & CO., 


MANUFACTURERS OF 

foaiid, Square and Upriglit Pianos, 




149 to 155 EAST 14th ST.. NEW YORK. ' 












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